


The Courting Season

by anarchycox



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Clueless Jaskier, Courtship, Crack Treated Seriously, Devotion, Feels, Fluff and Crack, Found Family, Growing feelings, M/M, Oblivious Character, POV Multiple, Romantic Geralt, Romantic Gestures, Silly Situations, This is pure fluff, Witcher Wolf Pack, everyone ships it, no secret angst, rom com, soft characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:13:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 47,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23708941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anarchycox/pseuds/anarchycox
Summary: Over winter at Kaer Morhen with Ciri, Geralt realizes that he loves Jaskier, and has for years. Everyone at the keep decides the only logical thing that can happen is that Geralt court and wed Jaskier. But Geralt wants to do it properly. So the strongest, most fearsome warriors in all the land, research how to woo a minor noble and send Geralt back into the world with elaborate lists and a game plan.And it all is going great. Courting turns out to be a lot easier than he expected. He and Jaskier will be married well before the return to Kaer Morhen for the winter!Jaskier is thrilled to have his best friend back, and be off adventuring again. Geralt is behaving a bit oddly, but well, people get weird sometimes.A fic where Jaskier is the romantically clueless one. Just because he sings about love, doesn't mean he'll see it - even when it is Witcher sized and holding flowers right in his face.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3626
Kudos: 5140
Collections: Best Geralt, Soft Witcher Fics for Bad Days





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> oh my god. my 200th fic on ao3. blows my mind. i hope that you enjoy this giant ball of fluff and absurdity.

“Jaskier, where did I put the -” Geralt cursed. It was stupid to call out for Jaskier, the man had never even been to Kaer Morhen for the winter. Not in all the years they had known each other.

“You say his name a lot,” Ciri said. She was doing the homework that Vesemir had set for her, as Geralt cleaned potion bottles. A boring task but they all needed to be checked carefully for cracks, and he had lost Gwent last night to Lambert and got stuck with the job. And it seemed everyone wanted their bottles checked and cleaned. He held up each to the light, setting a few aside as useless.

“Do I?” Geralt shrugged. “No more than I say Yennefer or Triss.”

“It’s a lot more. A lot a lot more,” Ciri replied. “He’s the only one you shout for in your sleep too.”

Geralt carefully put the bottle down, and looked at her. “No, I don’t,” he said confidently. Lying, because he had no fucking clue. He regularly dreamed of the bard, but his mind wouldn’t betray him like that. He hoped. She was just watching him though. “Do I?”

“No, but the fact that you maybe thought you did, suggests that it is a possibility.” Ciri put her quill down. “I asked Vesemir. He wouldn’t say. Eskel said it was your barnacle? And Lambert said he was your bed warmer.” Ciri flushed a bit at that. “And then Eskel punched him for saying bed warmer in front of me. And then Lambert punched him for punching him. I got bored watching them fight.”

Geralt was going to be punching Lambert for suggesting something so tawdry about Jaskier later. And Eskel for calling him a barnacle. Maybe Vesemir for not answering Ciri’s question. Triss said young girls need all their questions answered so they learn how to grow knowledge. “He was my best friend.”

“No,” Ciri gasped. “You lost your best friend, and now mourn him? I am so sorry, Geralt.” She was hugging him and almost crying.

“He isn’t dead,” Geralt dismissed and then paused. “Oh fuck, I hope he isn’t dead. Shit there was a war and he is an idiot who absolutely would have ended up in the middle of it. Shit, shit shit,” Geralt cursed. He left the still room and ran for his bed chamber. In his bag, he found the Xenovox Yennefer had given him. “Yenn,” he shouted into it. “Yenn. Is Jaskier alive? Please find out. Please.” There was no answer, but hopefully she received the message and would look into it. Geralt collapsed on the ground. He clutched at the small box and will Yennefer to answer.

“Geralt?”

“He sang at your parent’s betrothal,” Geralt said softly. “I always made fun of his singing, and he was fucking perfect.” 

“I’m getting Grandfather,” Ciri said and ran.

“Who the fuck is your grandfather?” Geralt called after her. “He died.” The box glowed in his hands.

“He teaches at Oxenfurt,” it said in Yennefer’s voice and went dark. He was pretty sure he’d get stabbed if he asked any follow up questions, and put the box down.

He breathed slowly, carefully. “He’s alive,” he said to himself. “Fuck, he’s alive.” There was an ache in his chest, relief and hurt. He couldn’t figure out why it hurt. All that should matter is that Jaskier was alive.

“See, he got broken,” Ciri said. “Because of someone named Jaskier.”

“Wolves mate for life, little one,” Vesemir explained. “Just usually no one chooses us.”

“Wait, what?” Eskel crowded in and Lambert was right behind him. “Wait, he’s in love with the idiot?”

Geralt growled. “He isn’t an idiot,” he snapped. He stood up. “Jaskier is -” The rest of it registered. “I don’t love Jaskier.” He turned to Vesemir. “Mate? What?” Geralt couldn’t put those words together in his mind. “He’s just Jaskier. He’s not…he’s Jaskier. I love Yennefer.”

Vesemir pat him on the shoulder. “Of course you do. But think about her, and how she makes your feel.”

“Witchers don’t feel anything.”

“Gods, I told you that, so I didn’t have to constantly here mutagen enhanced young men flogging the bishop every five minutes. I didn’t think you pups would take me seriously.” Vesemir shook his head. “Do you two also think that?” Eskel and Lambert nodded and Vesemir sat heavily in a chair. “Shit,” he groaned. “You go out there and hunt, and fuck, and fight, and hunger, and yearn. How the hell did you think you didn’t feel anything? I taught you to control your feelings - not run from them.”

“Boys are really stupid,” Ciri pointed out.

“Thank you my dear girl. And old men as well,” Vesemir sighed. “Geralt. You say you love Yennefer. Think about spending every day with her.” Geralt couldn’t stop the flinch. “Hmm,” Vesemir smiled a bit, and Geralt realized that he had picked up that noise from him. “Now, picture spending every day with Jaskier.” 

Geralt huffed and rolled his eyes. “He is a pain in my ass. Annoying, frustrating, talented, fearless, gorgeous, smells really great, caring, and fuck I’m only saying good things.” Geralt cursed. “It doesn’t matter, even if I perhaps maybe loved my best friend.”

“Hehehe, you’re in love,” Eskel teased. “With a bard. A human bard.” He stopped. “Oh that sucks, he’ll die on you. Don’t be in love, it will make you sad.”

Geralt shook his head. “I don’t care. He’s Jaskier. And a couple decades is better than the alternative.” He frowned. “Also, he looks really young for his age. He’s aged, but how long do humans live, 150 years or so?”

“About seventy, Geralt,” Ciri said.

“Going to have to figure that one out,” Geralt muttered. Triss would be able to sort it in all likelihood. “But it doesn’t matter. I had a fight with him. A year before Ciri and I found each other. It will be almost two years if not more by the time I would see him again. He won’t forgive me.”

“You are a really crappy person,” Lambert offered. “Probably not the first time you were a giant bog hag to him. He’ll forgive you. And then he’ll crawl back into your bed and everything is sorted.”

“Oh, yes,” Geralt remembered. He stood up and punched Lambert. “He was never my bed warmer, and don’t ever insult him again.” He went back and settled on his bed. “Shit. Fine. I love Jaskier.” He rubbed a hand over his heart as he said it. The words felt unbearably heavy but true. “So I find him. Apologize and then what? Back to the routine? Is that how it works?”

“You court him, and marry him!” Ciri said happily. “Oh, that will be brilliant.”

“How do you court a bard? All the ones I’ve met would roll over for a compliment to a song,” Eskel said and quickly stepped back from the glower Geralt leveled at him. “I mean not your bard, he is the picture of virginity.”

“He probably has a dozen bastards around the world,” Geralt said. “I’ve saved him from more cuckolded spouses than you would believe.” He looked at Ciri. “He is nobility. Minor but still. There are rules for courting such, aren’t there?”

“Probably? But I only know royalty, not minor nobility.”

“We do have an extensive library,” Vesemir said.

In between teaching Ciri, and the wolves training together, everyone found themselves in the library, researching all the ways that Geralt could court Jaskier. Certain gifts were to be given in certain months, and at a certain point your noble crest given.

“I’m not a noble though,” Geralt pointed out.

“Your witcher medallion?” Ciri suggested. She had been writing out everything they discovered carefully. Geralt looked to his brethren, he would not hand that over without their agreement.

“I find that acceptable,” Vesemir said, and the other two nodded in agreement. 

“Fine,” Geralt said. He pictured Jaskier wearing the metal against his skin, and he rather liked the idea.

“Hey, Geralt, did you know noble courting is a chaste thing until you are hand fasted or wed?” Lambert said looking up from his book. “Right here. Says that.”

“Hmm,” Geralt did not like that a bit. Now that he realized he wanted Jaskier, he’d rather hoped that they’d be able to fuck. But if the rules said no seduction, just courting then that is what he would do. He read carefully. “Kisses are allowed. As are respectful embraces.” He looked at everyone. “What the fuck does that mean?” No one had a clue.

“Hugs? Hugs seem respectable?” Ciri offered. They all decided that made sense. “Now you need to practice your courtly flattery.”

“My what?” Geralt stared at her. “No.”

“Yes. If you want him to love you back, and he is a bard, that means nice words.” Ciri pointed at him. “Pretend Eskel is Jaskier, and say something flattering.”

Geralt looked at Eskel who batted his eyes. “Oh Geralt,” he said in a high pitched voice. “You are looking so rugged and manly. I must write a song about your shoulders!” Geralt moved fast and tackled him, and started punching him for doing such a shit impression. 

“Ugh,” Ciri said and continued making her notes about the right courting gifts.

Winter was ebbing. It wasn’t time to leave the keep yet, but it would be soon. Yennefer would come to get Ciri so that she and Triss could teach her magic, and he would go to find Jaskier.

And court him.

Geralt was still adjusting to the knowledge that he loved Jaskier, but really it was the only thing that made sense. He had never tolerated a person as much as he had the bard. People were there, then not, and he never missed them. But he would miss Jaskier in the winters when he couldn’t sleep because no one was humming. He missed him when their roads took them in different directions. And when they met up again, something always relaxed in Geralt. 

Jaskier probably wouldn’t feel the same though. Geralt had treated him too poorly for far too long. But he had to try. Even if they just went back to being traveling companions that was better than nothing. He leaned against the keep wall, and tried to picture Jaskier in the cold and falling apart keep. Geralt would be happy to have Jaskier next to him. Jaskier would probably hate it.

“I was thinking of hiring out some repairs to the keep while you boys were out hunting.” Vesemir approached.

“Oh?”

“Can hardly bring a new husband back to all this rubble. Not a lot of repairs, but still a space suiting a man of his station and skill.”

“He might spit in my eye,” Geralt had to point out. He was preparing himself for that eventuality. It would hurt less when it happened if he was braced for it.

He knew he’d never actually get over the hurt, if Jaskier wanted nothing to do with him ever again.

“He won’t. You’ve spoken of him for years. And the way you’ve spoken of him? I have a feeling that man has been pining for you. And you didn’t notice because of that whole we feel nothing thing.” Vesemir shook his head. “I did you boys so wrong. And I am going to make it up to you. A suite for the winter that will make him feel welcome. Better food stores. Also a few more things for our little wolf.”

Geralt wouldn’t object to that in the least. “He is famous. I am infamous. He is nobility. I have fuck all. He is everything that is good, and I am a monster.”

“Balance of the world, Geralt. A compliment to each other.” Vesemir clapped a hand on his shoulder. “When the pass opens, treat it like a basilisk hunt - be fearless. Determined, and move in tandem with the creature.”

Geralt huffed a bit. No wonder he hadn’t realized that he was in love, if this was the relationship advice he received.

At first thaw, Yennefer opened a portal and came for Ciri.

“Father is going to go find Jaskier and court him and they are going to marry!” Ciri said after she hugged Yennefer.

“Oh, is he?” Yennefer smirked at Geralt. 

“I apparently love him.”

“I know, it was obvious,” Yennefer said. “Whenever you called him your ‘friend’.”

“You could have let me know,” Geralt muttered.

“Why?” she countered and they were gone.

The three witchers all rode out at the same time and Geralt headed towards Oxenfurt, to the university. The city was loud and bright and he stopped at a flower shop. The woman looked terrified at a witcher in her shop. “I need…fuck,” Geralt left the store and came back with the notes that Ciri had given him. “I need Honeysuckle, red tulips, apple blossoms, and wallflower?” She had three of the flowers and suggested daisies for the lack of wallflower. He quickly looked it up in the flowers and their meaning list in the “Courting Jaskier” journal and nodded. “That’s fine,” he agreed. The bouquet was put together and he held it carefully as he rode through the city. At the university he asked if Jaskier was still in residence, because it would be just his luck that he had missed the bard.

But he hadn’t. He was given directions and he found Jaskier in a courtyard, playing.

Geralt paused and watched him. Fuck, Jaskier really was stunning. Every feeling he had ever ignored flowed through him, and he wondered how he never noticed how much he loved the bard. “Jaskier,” he called out. He watched Jaskier freeze for a moment and hurried forward. He knelt in front of him. Ciri had really emphasized that kneeling was important in courting. There should be a lot of kneeling. “Jaskier, I need to apologize. I never should have said what I did at the mountain top, and I should have found you long before now to make amends. And -”

“Oh stop kneeling, it is weird,” Jaskier tugged at him, to sit on the bench as well. And Geralt found himself with an arm full of Jaskier. “I missed you.”

Geralt breathed in deeply. He smelled the soaps and perfumes that Jaskier used, his skin, and it was perfect. “I missed you too,” Geralt said. “I am sorry.”

“Meh, honestly not the worst you’ve said to me. I meant to give you time to cool down and then bother you again, but there was that whole giant army marching through the lands thing, and I came back here to be safe. I suppose that was cowardly of me.”

Geralt would thank the gods every day that Jaskier, his reckless love, had done that. “You were smart, for once in your life.” He winced a bit. Ciri had said he wasn’t allowed to snipe at Jaskier anymore.

But Jaskier laughed and the sound pulled the last of the winter frost away from Geralt’s heart. “I have missed you. What are you holding?”

Geralt remembered the bouquet. “For you. If you will accept?” The flowers weren’t a courting gift. They were the gift you gave, to show your intention to court. The flowers all picked to speak to his regard and affection. Jaskier had had a liberal arts education, he would know the meaning of them. If he accepted the bouquet, according to noble tradition that meant he was giving Geralt the chance to court him.

Geralt held his breath as Jaskier looked at the flowers. Jaskier plucked a daisy out and stuck it behind his ear. “I accept,” Jaskier said with a soft smile. “Now, how long do I have to pack before we head out for destiny and adventure?”

Geralt let out his breath. Jaskier had accepted. “How quickly can you be ready?”

“An hour?”

“I’ll wait here,” Geralt replied. He froze when Jaskier took an apple blossom out of the bouquet and tapped it against Geralt’s nose. “Hmm,” Geralt managed to say. 

According to the book Ciri had read apple blossoms meant “I prefer you before all.” Jaskier was telling him that. That he preferred Geralt to all, and there had been a lot of all in Jaskier’s life.

“I’ll be back soon. And then it will be just us, as we were meant to be,” Jaskier walked away whistling.

Geralt watched his ass, and was really annoyed that doing this right meant he wasn’t allowed to sink his teeth into that flesh. But there would be time enough after they wed if the courting went well.

And it was off to a perfect beginning.


	2. Chapter 2

Jaskier was smiling. He wasn’t skipping as he walked next to Geralt, that would be undignified, but it was close. “Perfect day isn’t it?” He couldn’t stop a bit of a jaunty whistle.

“It’s raining,” Geralt replied from atop Roach.

“Barely,” Jaskier said. “A mere sprinkle.” The skies were black, and there was a loud clap of thunder. “Okay perhaps it is shaping up to be more than a sprinkle. But still, a perfect day!” He had to shout a bit because the winds were picking up and snatched words away. But then he remembered Geralt’s hearing. A couple years had made him forget. He had become used to the company of perfectly normal humans. 

Fuck, he had been so happy when Geralt had shown up. He would have forgiven the man no matter what, because holy shit teaching was boring. Well, the teaching wasn’t boring, he loved helping a new generation learn to play and write songs that would make them immortal, but the grading. Life was the grade that mattered, not how well someone did on their analysis of a poem. And the meetings. He shuddered a bit. 

“Cold? I have a cloak for you, you never pack enough.”

Jaskier blinked a bit. “Uh, no, I’m fine.” Well that was just weird. Geralt in their years of travel had provided food, fire, but a cloak was new. And thoughtful. Jaskier looked up at him. “Why do you have a cloak for me?”

“I said,” Geralt replied and dumped it on his head. “The outside is treated so it is waterproof.”

“Thank you,” Jaskier was very confused by this. He put it on and Geralt almost smiled. It was really weird. He walked in silence a bit and then realized. Jaskier melted a bit. Geralt was a man of action. And worried that his apology hadn’t been enough. The cloak was probably there to prove that Geralt wanted him along. Because the man could never actually say the words, but to give his best friend a traveling cloak, would show that he was truly penitent and he wanted things back the way they were meant to be.

It was so much growth. Jaskier would have sniffled, but instead he beamed up at Geralt. “Thank you,” he said.

“You already said that.”

“I know, but just, thank you.” The rain dropped from the sky seemingly in an instance. “Yes, sir, my witcher, it is a perfect day.”

“So they emptied what little brain you had at that university did they?” 

Jaskier laughed. And there was his Geralt. The cloak had been given, they could now be back on proper footing. Like they were meant to be. Jaskier was not so old that he didn’t jump into a puddle on their walk, and yes perhaps he was singing too loudly, but the smell of the city was long behind them, the onion and adventure smell of Geralt was next to him, and he was fucking happy for the first time in two years. 

He was a bit less happy by the time they were in the village they had seen in the distance, because while the cloak was waterproof, his boots were less so, and they had made a valiant attempt to keep him dry and warm, but they were losing that attempt. He couldn’t feel the smallest toe on his left foot. Then he remembered he had lost that toe a long time ago to frostbite. “Oh pinkie I miss you so,” Jaskier said.

“You still mourn that toe?”

“It was a good toe, Geralt.”

“It was a toe, the little one, it does nothing.”

Jaskier smiled a bit. They had had this conversation many times over the years, and there was a comfort in having it again. They walked and Geralt grunted at the rain that just kept getting worse. “Go ahead in, get us a couple rooms,” Geralt shouted to him. “I’ll see to Roach.”

For a moment Jaskier had a flicker of fear, that Geralt would just continue on. “I can wait,” he said hurriedly. In the first few years that had happened a couple times. He went to the inn, and Geralt was just gone. “You’ll need help with the bags.” Jaskier was terrified to take his eyes off Geralt. “I’m fine. I grew gills after you threw me away.”

Shit, hadn’t meant to say that.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. “I’ll go get us rooms,” Jaskier said and fuck dignity he ran. He went inside the inn and went to the man behind the counter. “A couple rooms for the night?” 

“All full up,” the man said. “Storm out there. Nasty one.”

Jaskier glared at him. He took off a boot and let the water pour out onto the floor. “Really, I hadn’t noticed.” 

“Don’t make a mess of my establishment, toss you out.”

“If you have a full inn, I’m a bard, bring in good coin.”

“For yourself.”

“Split 50/50 with you if you magically find a room.”

The man looked around the room that was fairly full. “I have something.” A key was grabbed and he gestured. Jaskier put on the boot again. Followed. The main door wasn’t opening and his shoulders slumped a bit. Well, maybe it was time to adventure on his own, anyways. He sure as hell wasn’t going back to the university, not with the perhaps overly dramatic exit he had made. He followed the innkeeper all the way up and sighed. “The attic?”

“It’s that or the root cellar,” the man replied. He seemed at least a little contrite. “But it’s not as bad as you might think.” He opened the door, and to be fair, they had stayed in worse. He couldn’t see any rat droppings, and it didn’t smell of rot. Wasn’t even leaking. “Look stack of mattresses right there. One doesn’t even have any blood on it, and I’ll have my girl bring sheets and a couple lamps up.”

“Fine,” Jaskier replied because there really wasn’t much other choice, and it would be better than the root cellar so sleeping sitting up in the tavern. “My thanks for the accommodation.”

“Of course, of course. I look forward to hearing you play, bard.”

Jaskier gave a brief smile to the man and took the key that the man offered. He went to the mattresses rested up on the wall and pushed them over. Musty, a few mystery stains, one with only a few drops of blood. So all in all, they had had far worse.

He had had far worse, because Geralt will have continued on. Jaskier changed into dry clothes, and in the bottom of his bag were a pair of dancing shoes. He hadn’t even realized that he had packed them. He had pretty much thrown what he saw in his bag and run, just in case Geralt had changed his mind. He looked at the pack and his lute case and realized that the rains had washed away the bouquet that Geralt had given him.

That hurt. But he’d have the memory of Geralt kneeling with the bouquet of flowers forever. He smiled a bit, the flowers had all clashed horribly, and the only thing he had recognized in there were the tulips, but it had been a sweet gesture. It was a private joke of Jaskier’s that he named himself after a flower, and honestly didn’t like most of them. But it was a good bard name, worked well on the road. Sold well in small villages. But these had been silly pointless flowers from Geralt, who had probably just grabbed ones as he walked by. To apologize.

Which why would have he even come to find Jaskier, if he was just going to abandon him? 

Geralt was many things and yes an asshole quite regularly, but the amount of time for that sort of bullshit was just not the sort of thing Geralt would do. Jaskier quickly put on the dry shoes and ran his hands through his hair. With lute in hand he went all the way down and immediately looked to the corner that had the whole room in its sight lines.

And there he was.

The tension that had been in his stomach loosened. He took a mug of ale off a tray and went over to Geralt. “They are full up. We get to share the attic.”

“Better than a ditch?”

“Far superior,” Jaskier reassured. “So any preferences?” 

“For what?”

Jaskier sighed. “For what I sing tonight,” he replied. “Two years without hearing my dulcet tones and perfect pitch. If there is anything in particular you’d like, I’d be happy to play.”

“I don’t care.”

“No, I know,” Jaskier said. “Just thought I’d offer, so your ears weren’t assaulted on your first night.” He opened the lute case and was relieved it was perfectly dry. He tuned it carefully and strummed a little. Low and soft, letting the music just glide on the air. He smirked a little when a few ears perked up at the noise, and he played a little louder.

“Something new,” Geralt said.

“Huh?” Jaskier looked at him.

“You must have written a thing or two in the time we were apart. I’d like to hear that.”

“Oh, yes, of course,” Jaskier frowned a bit. Was this about him still proving he was sorry? Because they were fine. He didn’t have to pretend to care about what Jaskier sang. “First though, warm them up a bit.” Jaskier stood and played a popular tune, and a few of his more famous songs. There was some clapping along and foot stomping, and broke into Toss a Coin, and bull fucking shit, Geralt didn’t roll his eyes or sneer.

They were so talking about this later.

He then played something new as Geralt requested and then back to crowd favourites. He moved through the music and felt more energized than he had in a long time. Fuck, he was meant for the road, not the city. Not for as long as he had stayed. He belonged stepping over spilled ale, and vomit, was that dark stain dried blood or maybe shit at some point? Who knew, who cared, this is what he should be doing with his life.

He played a few more songs, and collected the money people threw. He gave the owner his cut, and in exchange he was actually given a couple glasses of a very nice smelling whisky and some fresh bread and cheese. Jaskier could have kissed the man. He took it over to Geralt. “Three words or less,” he said, as he always did.

“Could be worse.”

Jaskier stepped back a bit. “You need to stop this.” He took the whisky and the bread and tromped upstairs. At the door to the room there was a stack of pillows and sheets and an oil lamp. He brought it all into the room and realized he didn’t pack a flint, hadn’t really needed it in a couple years.

The lamp blazed and he automatically turned and threw bread at the threat. Geralt caught it easily. “Yes, bread will save you,” Geralt said, then tore a chunk out with his teeth. “Though at least you have some defensive reflexes still.”

“Why are you being so nice, it is freaking me out!” Jaskier yelled at him. He began to pace. “You came to get me, you apologized with flowers! And a cloak! You didn’t abandon me in this shitty village, like I thought you were going to -”

“Why would I do that if I went to the trouble to seek you out in Oxenfurt? That would be a waste of time.”

“I don’t know, fond memories of all the other times you abandoned me?” Jaskier snapped. He went very still when he saw Geralt actually flinch from those words. “That was cruel. I’m sorry.” Jaskier sank down onto the stack of mattresses, mostly avoiding the blood stains. “No, you know what, it wasn’t cruel,” he decided staring at the ceiling.

“It wasn’t,” Geralt agreed and he was staying by the door. Keep distance. Ready to run if Jaskier got too emotional. Well then fine, Jaskier would be too emotional, get this over with. 

“Two years, Geralt. Two fucking years. And it was different than other times, because the continent was burning. And I had no fucking clue if you were alive. You didn’t give a damn if I was alive. And then you just show fucking up, and rescue me like you always fucking did.”

“What did I rescue you from?”

“Boredom, responsibility, being caged. I was dying there, such a slow death I wouldn’t have even noticed until one day I overheard a student say, didn’t he used to be interesting?” Jaskier closed his eyes. “And in a few days or weeks, you’ll remember how much I annoy you, and disappear again, and I’ll go back to that slow death because what the fuck else am I supposed to do?”

He could hear Geralt move and felt the dip of the mattresses as his weight settled. He lay down and it caused Jaskier to roll into him. Jaskier started to push away and felt Geralt’s hand clasp his. “Are you fucking holding my hand?”

“Shut up, for five fucking seconds,” Geralt growled.

“See, that is how you speak to me. Like a bastard, not a friend.” Jaskier lay on the bed, holding hands with the witcher, who was a mix of normal and kind and it was messing up his head.

“I forgot you,” Geralt said after a moment.

“Thank you, lovely. Just lovely. You forgot me, and I never stopped thinking about you. Delightful.” Jaskier would have gotten up, but Geralt’s grip tightened.

“I went to get Ciri, to keep her safe, and Calanthe was a fucking it, and it all went to shit. Probably would have gone better if I had had someone who knows how to talk to people. And then I had to find her. Almost died doing so. Then I had to keep her safe, and find Yennefer because she almost destroyed herself at Sodden Hill.”

“Of course, Yennefer.” Jaskier smiled sadly. 

“And then we were at Kaer Morhen and I was keeping her safe. All my thoughts were for my daughter, Jaskier, because if they weren’t, what good was I?”

“You were always good,” Jaskier said softly.

“I didn’t think of you, except all the times I did.” Geralt was staring at the ceiling. “I would say your name, wouldn’t even be aware of it. And I didn’t for the longest time wonder if you were alive or dead, because you were obviously alive. And when that was pushed to the forefront of my mind, I thought of you.”

“And what did you think then?”

“That it was time to change everything. Do you understand?” Geralt turned and looked at him. “I saw what I hadn’t seen and it was time. Our time. If you want it to be our time.”

Jaskier saw the sincerity in his eyes. Geralt was finally going to acknowledge they were friends. He was trying to be a true travel companion. Jaskier smiled. “I would like it to be our time as well.” Properly traveling together, seeing the world, having adventures. Friendship, like he had always wanted from Geralt. “You won’t just leave?”

“Never again,” Geralt swore.

“And this whole being nice thing?” Jaskier frowned a bit. “You are aware you have me trained to being used to you being a dick. You have to dole it out slowly, get me adjusted to the nice words.”

“But you accept?”

Jaskier snorted. “Of course I accept. Wouldn’t be your very best friend in the whole wide world if I didn’t accept. Are we now sorted?” He was sure now that Geralt would understand that Jaskier accepted his apology. Jaskier nodded. “So how was my singing tonight, Geralt?”

“I tuned most of it out, like a fly buzzing around you head. But not so bothersome that you kill it.”

Jaskier nodded. “There that works quite nicely.”

“Ciri gave me very specific instructions on how to speak to you,” Geralt explained.

And that made a lot more sense. Jaskier could just picture the princess lecturing Geralt on manners for how he was to treat his friend. It was incredibly sweet. “Speak to me however you want, Geralt. I am used to it.”

“It needs to be different now. More…honest?” 

Poor man was struggling. “Yes, but I am fluent in witcher moron speak, I’ll translate when I have to,” Jaskier reassured him. “Now what shall I natter on about, until you tell me to shut up so we can sleep?”

“Tell me about teaching.”

Jaskier lay there, and spoke at length about the good and bad of it. Bit odd that Geralt didn’t let go of his hand, but the warmth and comfort of touch wasn’t so bad. Quite nice really.

Best friends, holding hands. It really was quite sweet. He talked until he heard Geralt's snores and he eased his hand out of Geralt's, rolled over and went to sleep himself.


	3. Chapter 3

Geralt sat by the fire light and read the notes in his courting journal. Jaskier was asleep which was good. He knew Jaskier was appreciating the courting, but he was fairly certain that Jaskier would be offended that it was coming from a list, and not ‘the truth of emotion born from his soul and heart’. He had heard Jaskier use that line on a woman once. It sounded stupid but he ended up in her bed, so maybe not that stupid.

No, it was still bullshit. 

But it was bullshit that Jaskier loved, so he was making sure that everything he was doing looked natural and spontaneous. Which Jaskier had noticed and was confused by, but now understood. A month now and he smiled at every compliment that Geralt gave him. Only had asked if Geralt was sick a few times.

He looked at the notes from Ciri and Vesemir. Ciri had suggested 3 compliments a day, Vesemir said 3 a week. Geralt grabbed Jaskier’s quill, and added that one a day or every other day seemed to be the right balance.

The cloak had been well received, Jaskier tended to sleep under it more than he did his blanket even, and Geralt regularly brought him back flowers when he went hunting in the woods. All the flowers were ones that spoke of his affection and regard. Jaskier seemed to love the flowers, always tucking one behind his ear, weaving them into Roach’s mane. 

She tolerated it, because she had also missed the bard, and seemed to be very on board with the courting and marriage plans. He finished his notes about what compliments were working what weren’t. Music was the best, clothes were good, Jaskier was a bit hit or miss on compliments on his body or looks.

Or at least, y _ou’d still be attractive even after six months as a drowner_ was not quite the right approach. He wondered if Eskel had been lying when he said that line always worked for him. He’d have to punch his brother next time he saw him. But saying Jaskier looked like a happy sprite after a particularly rousing performance was good. He added it to the list carefully.

It had been a month, which meant that sometime this week he had to provide a courting gift lest Jaskier think Geralt wasn't serious about this. According to the books they had found and what Ciri remembered of a cousin, it was a gift to show that Geralt could provide for Jaskier’s needs, that he had the money and wherewithal to keep him attended to.

The big problem with that being that Geralt seldom had any fucking money. Not enough for a gift like that anyways. They were doing better than they used to on money, with Geralt not spending it at brothels anymore. Which he was starting to get a little squirrelly without sex. But it was fine, it was worth it. He closed the notebook and went into the woods for a quick wank, picturing Jaskier in his bed at Kaer Morhen. Luckily all the years of traveling together, Geralt had a good idea of what to picture. He really wanted to touch Jaskier’s chest hair. He wanted to touch everything. For a very long time. When he done, he returned to camp and lay next to Jaskier.

As always, Jaskier rolled towards Geralt’s heat and Geralt wrapped an arm around him. 

He had missed this the most. He didn’t even know if Jaskier knew how much he slept next to Geralt. It had been for warmth against the cold at first, when they had been trapped by a storm. And then it seemed that Jaskier’s body just gravitated to Geralt. More than once Geralt had woken up a pool of drool on his chest. That he had never minded should have clued him in long ago how he felt about the bard. But he was here now.

He fell asleep trying to think of the right gift for Jaskier, and woke up the thought on his mind. They traveled to the next village which was really four buildings and when there was no job, decided to press on instead of asking to spend the night in a barn. They made camp, and Jaskier had his lute out.

“Is the lute case fine? It used to have a lock that didn’t latch properly,” Geralt said. A new lute case could be a good gift. And not too expensive. Or maybe they were, what the fuck did he know about lute cases.

“It is a new case. I admit I bought it a year ago, hoping well…hoping.” Jaskier smiled and strummed a little. “Spent a fortune, should last even through all our travels.”

“Fuck,” Geralt cursed.

“How is that a bad thing?” Jaskier was frowning at him. 

“No, it isn’t. That’s good,” Geralt tried to smile. Ciri said he should do that more. Smiling let people know you like them. But big cheerful smiles mostly just scared people as they saw his teeth with the incisors that were just a tiny bit more pointy than average people. “Was just thinking that we need a hunt soon. Coin purse it getting low.”

“And you were worried about my lute?” Jaskier was looking almost teary. “Thank you, Geralt. You may pick the first song I play for us tonight.”

Geralt knew that was a high honour even when they were alone, because Jaskier preferred to sing what he was in the mood for, and he froze because he didn’t actually know the names of any songs. He knew the songs but not their names. Shit. The names were always in the songs weren’t they? “Ummm, Her Sweet Kiss?” It was the first thing that popped in his head, and he watched Jaskier dim a little and remembered that song was maybe about Yennefer. Fuck. “I don’t love Yennefer,” Geralt blurted out.

“Mmmhmmm,” Jaskier muttered, and started to play the song.

Shit. Geralt hurried over and sat in front of Jaskier on the ground as Jaskier sat on a log. It was close to kneeling. He wasn’t doing like Ciri suggested and kneeling once a day, but he was trying for more instances where Jaskier was a bit above him. Showing trust and vulnerability to the bard. “I am not in love with Yennefer,” he promised. “I have zero intentions of being in her bed again.”

“And her intentions?”

“To keep fucking Triss mostly I assume?” Geralt guessed. Last time he had visited they had been very loud. He was watching Jaskier. “You are now picturing that aren’t you?”

“Who wouldn’t?” Jaskier replied, and sure maybe Geralt had thought of a similar nature a time or two. “You and Yen are bound by destiny.”

“And I choose every day to be bound to you,” Geralt countered. “You know how I feel about destiny. Yennefer and I raising Ciri because she needs magic education and Aretuza is in shambles after the war. But Yennefer and I are friends.”

“What if they invited you to their bed?” Jaskier asked curiously, and he clearly needed reassurance, after all the years of Geralt fucking anything willing.

“I would say no,” Geralt promised solemnly.

“Geralt, why would you do that? You say yes on the condition that I get to watch,” Jaskier said. “Why would you deny me that?” Jaskier was glaring at him, and then laughed and Geralt laughed too.

“You are such a slut,” Geralt said and froze. Fuck, that was not the sort of language he was supposed to use to someone he was courting.

“So are you,” Jaskier replied easily. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“No, there isn’t,” Geralt agreed. Jaskier sang the song, and then a few other things and Geralt sat a bit more comfortably and listened. The last thing he sang was new and Geralt liked it. And he was making sure to say so. “That one wasn’t bad. Though Griffins don’t swoop like that.”

“I remember,” Jaskier replied. He just strummed and then put the lute carefully away. “Thank you for asking about the case. I didn’t think you noticed stuff like that.”

“Traveling with Ciri made me more aware of things.”

“I honestly cannot picture that you know,” Jaskier said. “Tell me about it?”

“She doesn’t end up in songs, Jaskier. I’m sorry but -”

“No,” Jaskier replied firmly. He slid off the log and pressed his shoulder against Geralt’s. “No, I know. She is yours and she is going to be eternally at risk. I’ll keep her safe too. Do you think…I’ll meet her at some point?”

Geralt frowned at him. “Of course you will. What do you think, she’ll hide in her room all winter?”

“Huh?”

“Ciri doesn’t have a shy bone in her body. And after everything I told her this past winter, she is eager to bother you when we all settle into Kaer Morhen,” Geralt said. He wondered if Jaskier was worried about all the stories that circulated about it being a ruin. He was used to comfort in the winter. “I swear our room is intact, and cozy. Large fire place and plenty of furs.”

“We’re wintering in Kaer Morhen. I’m wintering in Kaer Morhen? With you?”

“Why would we spend it apart now that everything is different?” Geralt asked. He thought about it. Shit maybe Jaskier wanted to winter in Novigrad. Fuck. “Or we good all stay at the university? Can we all fit in -”

“No, I am good with Kaer Morhen. Tell me there is a library I can explore.”

Geralt would write a letter home, telling Vesemir to hide a few tomes. “You’ll be able to explore away,” he promised. He thought about that and thought about Jaskier. “There are a few rooms you will not go into.” Fuck, Jaskier had that gleam in his eyes. Fuck, shit. Hmmm, “It would upset me if you went in them and brought up painful memories,” he lied. He mostly just didn’t want Jaskier to die, and some of those rooms were likely toxic.

“I won’t,” Jaskier swore quickly. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

Geralt nodded at him. “Ciri will be happy to have music for the nights. She also would enjoy how you would retell of the betrothal party. It seems my version of the story is -”

“Dry, ponderous, spare, boring?”

“Something like that,” Geralt agreed. He looked at Jaskier’s feet. “How are you boots, you tend to wear them out.”

“Paid for these ones to be magically reinforced,” Jaskier said. 

Of course he had.

The next village they reached they settled in for a couple days as the notice board had a few jobs, and there were enough people that Jaskier would be able to bring in some coin as well. It was a bit of a hodgepodge, a nekkers nest, a couple mutated carnivorous plants. Wouldn’t bring in a fortune, but between the two of them decent coin. He got the money from the notices and some more from the local healer for herbs he collected. Geralt had thought maybe a horse for Jaskier, but honestly they couldn’t afford the consistent expense, and horses that traveled with a witcher needed special training. Everything that Jaskier had was in better condition than what Geralt had. He debated maybe he could switch the order of the gifts about, but that book Lambert had found had been very clear that the gifts had to be in the correct order, otherwise you were likely offering false suit to pull someone into your bed.

He checked at the small market for anything that would be necessary to Jaskier’s needs. But there was nothing. He stopped at a stall that was selling some potion recipes and found a few interesting things for himself. He looked at the shelf. “What’s that book?” he gestured at something that was old and he recognized the musical note on the spine from when Jaskier wrote compositions. Well, he didn’t just knew that it was a music thing, not what it was specifically.

“Some old music journal, guy sold it to me with a bunch of other journals. Felt bad for him,” the seller said. “He swore I could make a fortune off it, but he was too desperate to wait until he found the right buyer.” She snorted. “Fortune, ha! The thing is falling apart.”

“20 crowns for it?” Geralt offered.

“That suits me fine,” she agreed and handed him the thing. A few pages fell out and Geralt stuffed them back in. He took the purchases back to the inn, and Jaskier was singing away. Geralt grabbed an ale and sat in the corner to watch. It was a small crowd, but very enthusiastic and Jaskier was having fun. Geralt opened the book, curious, but it seemed to just be all music and the writing was gibberish. He hoped it would be vaguely of interest to Jaskier.

There had to be something he could find to prove he could support the bard. If he was courting another witcher the head of a creature would be good enough. But Jaskier didn’t like the gift of organs or body parts. Learned that lessen about twelve years ago. The tavern all applauded and Jaskier came over, coin purse decently full for a small court. “Success?”

“Hmm, we are good for a week or two at least,” Geralt said.

“I am doing well, and they said word should have spread enough for a good crowd tonight. Wait are you reading a book? Have I ever seen you read a book?”

“I read in the winter, books take up too much space in the packs.” 

“So what is that book then?” 

“It is for you,” Geralt said. “I am pretty sure it is rubbish but it was cheap and it is about music.” He shrugged. “Old but the paper can be kindling if it is useless.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet, and not even any blood or shit on it.” Jaskier opened it and stared. 

He was just staring at that first page. And he was growing pale. Shit, was it a cursed book. His medallion had not suggested it had magic imbued in it. “Jaskier?” Why was he still staring at the first page. Geralt waved a hand in front of his face. “Jaskier? Look I am sorry. Seems even at 20 crowns I was ripped off.”

“You paid 20 crowns for this?” Jaskier stood. “Excuse me for a moment.” Jaskier went to the bar, and drank an ale faster than Geralt had seen him do before.

Ciri was going to murder him for fucking up this hard. Lambert would never stop laughing that Geralt killed his courtship dead in its tracks over a book.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt said swiftly as Jaskier sat down. “I’ll take it back to the seller. Might get about 7 crowns back.”

“Geralt, that book is worth about 10,000 crowns,” Jaskier said.

It was Geralt’s turn to just stare at the book. “What?” he asked, voice flat.

“There are precisely four copies of that book thought to be in existence, the first edition, I should say. Now it seems five. Those four, three are in universities, where you need five letters of authority to so much as be in the same room as them. The last is in private ownership. It is the journal. The journal, Geralt. The book that first wrote down, collected bardic tales. Songs so old, they were found painted on cave walls. It is the history that is my profession. I have worn through at least 7 copies of that journal in my life, Geralt. The closest I have been is a fifth edition, and it was prized at 4,000 crowns.” 

Jaskier was crying, and Geralt was completely at a loss.

“So, this is important?”

“It is, in my world, the most important book in existence.” Jaskier had to wipe a tear away. “We wouldn’t have to worry about money for years if we sold this.”

“No,” Geralt said swiftly. “You should have this book. If anyone should have a public copy of it, it is you.”

“We need to get a waterproof skin for it.”

Geralt’s eyes widened. That was something Jaskier needed. He could provide it. “I will go back to the market.” He stood up and the table moved with the force of it. “This is something you need, I will provide it.” Jaskier was calling after him, but he ignored it. He went to the market and found exactly what was needed. He then took it to the village sorceress and she enchanted the satchel so that if it was lost it was lock in the contents and return to the owner. It took most of the money he had earned that day, but was worth it. 

Geralt hurried back to the inn, but Jaskier wasn’t in the room. He was probably upstairs, protecting the book. Geralt knocked, “It’s me,” he said and stepped in. Jaskier was sitting on the bed, crying. The book was open in front of him. “Jaskier?”

“This is the song that made me want to be a bard,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt sat across from him. “Do I know it?”

“No,” Jaskier replied. He turned the page, using one of Geralt’s daggers from his bag. “Don’t want to get anymore finger oil or dirt on it.”

“Sing it for me?” 

“It is in a language that we don’t even have anymore. From before Elder. We had to guess at it phonetically and by the music that is written with it. Music, hasn’t changed, you know. The only thing that hasn’t.”

Geralt reached out and brushed at Jaskier’s hair. “Sing it for me.”

It was odd, and nothing like how he was used to Jaskier singing. And it pulled at something deep inside of Geralt. It made him think of how he felt on a hunt, on the razor’s edge between watching and action. It called at something that was barely tamed in him. If he had heard Jaskier sing like this before, he would have known he was in love a long time ago. “Thank you,” Geralt said. “Here, for the book. I paid for enchantment. It is a thing you needed and I present it within the first month of our time together.”

“What?” Jaskier looked at him. “Oh, thank you. Yes the satchel is great. Hooray for satchel.”

“Is it not acceptable?”

“Geralt, I understand you are a pragmatic man,” Jaskier was shaking his head, “but I need you to understand how little I give a shit about the satchel.” Geralt felt his shoulders slump. Of course the satchel was a foolish courting gift. As a viscount he could probably receive a house as the first courting gift. “Geralt, this book, is literally why I am who I am. Why I began to travel, and why I bothered you until you let me stay. Geralt this book, this fucking book is my whole being. It is me. Rough and beat up, and holding the promise of music and word, and it is everything.” Jaskier wiped another tear away. “This book is everything I could ever need, and there is nothing that has ever been given to me, or will be given to me, that I will cherish more than this.”

“And the satchel will keep it safe,” Geralt nudged it forward.

Jaskier threw himself at Geralt, and Geralt caught him. 

It was a hug. Hugs were acceptable respectful embraces to show that a gift was welcome and appreciated. Geralt closed his arms around Jaskier and held tight. He breathed in the joy and happiness that was just pouring off his bard. And Jaskier didn’t seem to be in a rush to let go. Geralt was pretty sure that a respectful embrace should have ended by now.

He adjusted his legs and held Jaskier close, would for as long as the bard wanted to be held.

Two more months, two more gifts then the proper betrothal. 

Then they could do more. Geralt breathed in some more of that pure happiness that Jaskier was just pouring out. The wait was going to kill him, and it would be the best death a witcher could imagine.


	4. Chapter 4

Jaskier so wanted to open the satchel, but they were camping. He wasn’t going to read one of the most valuable books in the world where stray ash from their fire, or woodland dirt, or anything could get on it. He really wanted to, but he would resist. He was allowed to read the book when they stopped at inns. Which they had been doing a bit more since their reunion.

There was still plenty of camping, but he had noticed that they were more likely to push to the village instead of an extra night on the road. Unless money ran out, which still did happen, but also less than it used to - thanks to Jaskier more than Geralt. He had seen Geralt count his lack of money a few times. War had meant people had less money for monster hunting. Still plenty of monsters, just less money to be rid of them. But Jaskier’s name had grown over their time apart and often he was paid for playing in a town and not just what was thrown at them. He didn’t mind paying more for their rooms, it was nice to be able to balance that scale after the couple of decades of traveling together.

He touched the satchel, but didn’t open it to look at the book.

“The satchel is keeping it well?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier bit back a laugh. “Yes, it is doing its job quite well. You secured excellent enchantments on it.” He almost bit through his lip at the way that Geralt perked up at that. He was so obsessed with the satchel. It took Jaskier a while to figure that one out, because most important book of all time, satchel. But Geralt was a protector. He would focus on making sure the thing that mattered was protected. If he was fanciful he’d say it was the way that Geralt protected him, but that would imply Geralt found Jaskier valuable.

He would have been bitter about that thought before. Sad, because it was clearly a false thing to believe that Geralt valued him. But he thought the man did. Things had settled into a different routine. Geralt talked to him more. It was still far less than the average person, but he actually shared personal details now.

_There is one fireplace at Kaer Morhen that always has blankets and pillows by it. Jaskier would like how it felt._

_Ciri loves practice fighting._

_Eskel is a tease but not so bad when you get to know him._

_Geralt’s room was well insulated and cozy._

Little details about what his home life was like. Jaskier heard more in the last 6 weeks than he had heard in twenty years. Some days Geralt said a dozen sentences to him. They were rare, but they happened. And Geralt was still giving him flowers. It was sweet. It made him think that Geralt truly cared about their friendship and was slowly learning how to be a friend.

That he did value Jaskier after all.

Jaskier looked longingly at the satchel. They’d be at an inn tomorrow and then he could read it again. He picked up the lute instead. “Now how about…something that is all puns.” He laughed when Geralt groaned, the man loathed puns. But he nodded in agreement.

Before Geralt would have snarled and told him to fuck off. He would have played it anyways, but it was nice the change. And Jaskier had to stop comparing, because it just confused him. Better to just accept having a daughter changed Geralt, and he was reaping the benefits.

A princess daughter. He sang the song and then strummed a bit. “You have been serious about me meeting Ciri?”

Geralt looked so confused. “Of course I have. Our lives would be very confusing if I didn’t,” he said. “Clearly.”

“Clearly.” Jaskier decided there was some weird Geralt reason. There always was and he never understood it until it was time to, and then it all seemed so clear. “I can only imagine what Yennefer has told her about me.” 

“I don’t know that,” Geralt said. “But I know what I told her about you.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Annoying, abrasive, loud?”

“Kind, loyal, fearless, immeasurably talented. Perhaps a bit…dramatic.”

Jaskier immediately gasped and flushed at the way that Geralt laughed. A full throated noise like that was so new. Before -

No. No more befores.

Just the now, who they were now. 

Jaskier played the lute, and enjoyed the way that Geralt listened and occasionally said a whole sentence or two. He hummed a little and then put the lute away. He was so tempted to read the book again. It hurt not to look at those glorious pages. But they were so fragile, it was in really appalling condition. He lay down on his palette.

“I entered a cave. The locals swore it sang, and that was foolish, but I had nothing to lose. So I traveled with a local guide. The path was slippery and the cave filled two thirds at high tide. You had to be a fool to travel just to hear a song that likely wasn’t even there. But tell me what bard isn’t a fool?” Geralt said in a low and soothing voice.

Jaskier sat up. “What the fuck?”

“I read it over your shoulder.” Geralt shrugged and poked the fire. 

“And memorized it?” Jaskier felt his jaw drop. 

“You memorized it,” Geralt pointed out.

“Yes, because I’ve read it 50 times. You read it over my shoulder once?”

“I was trained well, and took to books easily. I read it once, I remember it. Why I also don’t have to travel with books. I can just think of one and have it be like I am reading it.”

“I’m sorry.” Jaskier had to process this. “The reason I’ve never seen you read more than a notice board, or a whore’s bill isn’t because you can barely read, it is because you read so well, and remember so much, you carry how many things in your head?”

“I don’t know,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier for a moment thought it was just the fire, but he realized the witcher was actually blushing a bit. “Are you blushing?” He sat all the way up and scooted closer.

“It…others wield swords…others fight. Not as well, but they do. And I’m the only witcher who can do that. I’ve never met anyone else who can do that. It is a monstrous skill.”

“You mean an amazing thing,” Jaskier said firmly. “How many books do you have floating about in your mind, in their entirety?”

“Thirty or forty,” Geralt said and muttered something.

“No, tell me.”

“That would be of interest to you. The maths books, alchemy and the like wouldn’t be of interest.”

“And they would take the total up to?”

“Sixty or so,” Geralt admitted. “Everyone can memorize a poem. But there is something wrong in my brain that it remembers every single thing it has read.”

Jaskier was a bit shocked. Of all the witcher skills, Jaskier considered this one a true gift, not the razor edge of blessing and curse that so many of them were. But for Geralt it was a thing that set him even further apart, when in the villages they went to there were many who couldn’t read at all. He scooted closer. “Geralt?”

“What?”

“How many songs do you think I know?”

“Your average set is a dozen songs, with five for encore, you switch out a third of them every six weeks, so one hundred and fifty is a reasonable guess.”

Jaskier coughed a little to cover his surprise that Geralt had paid attention like that. But the number he guessed would help Jaskier’s point. “More.”

“Two hundred?”

“More,” Jaskier bumped his shoulder against Geralt’s. “I can remember every song I have heard, or played, or dreamed. A thousand would be a closer number. I can pluck them out of the air and play them perfectly. Even if I heard them once when I was a child. They are all in there.”

“Is that why you talk so much sometimes, drown out the noise of them all?”

Jaskier paused. How dare this new Geralt be insightful. “Sometimes. Also I just like the sound of my own voice. It filled all your quiet.”

“You had interesting things to tell. I never did.”

“Well in that you are mistaken. I’ve always found you terribly interesting.” Jaskier bumped shoulders again. “We both have minds that carry a great many words. A thing in common.” 

Geralt’s hand was hot as it squeezed his knee. “I am glad of it.”

“I am too.” Jaskier stayed for a moment in that touch. He then went and stretched out on his palette. “Now ‘read’ me one of those books in your mind.”

“2 red cap mushrooms collected under a full moon. 3 raspberries -”

“Boo!” Jaskier shouted and he smiled at the way Geralt laughed. “Try again.”

“Once upon a time there was a boy, who was very poor. Poor but happy. And he knew a grand adventure was waiting for him,” Geralt said softly, and Jaskier fell asleep to Geralt not speaking a few sentences but a whole story.

He had never heard a better sound.

*

Jaskier stood in the dining hall of the noble who held this land. Geralt was off killing whatever was and he was to entertain the party the nobleman was having. It meant also double the coin, and Geralt had gone off on the hunt before Jaskier could point out the very large problem with this plan. But he was a professional. He would muddle through.

He was given a room and he dressed in his performing clothes, instead of his traveling ones. He combed his hair and breathed deeply. He gargled water and did finger exercises he seldom bothered. But he had to be perfect tonight. He was Jaskier, and he was the best traveling bard there was. Who else traveled with a witcher of Geralt’s reputation.

A reputation he had fucking built. He collected his lute and went to the dining hall. He bowed to the lord and started to play. He started slowly softly as people ate. Jaskier knew how to play a crowd. And he very much didn’t look at the woman who had given him his long fingers, jaw line, and eye colour. He sang and during a course shift went into a popular song, that everyone knew. 

The night was going well, and then Geralt walked in during desert and put a head on the nobleman’s plate. “The proof you asked for,” Geralt said and Jaskier snickered a bit. The man had said, Geralt better bring proof, and proof had been brought. Jaskier immediately started singing Toss a Coin and everyone but the nobleman and his mother sang along. A servant whisked the head away and Geralt was guided to the lowest possible seat in the hall and a meager plate brought for him.

Oh fuck no, Jaskier thought. And he sang a song about the curse of mistreating a witcher. He had completely made it up but it made a few guests pale and a murmur begin. A better plate of food and a large mug of ale were brought for Geralt. Better.

Geralt rolled his eyes at Jaskier who just shrugged, unrepentant. Jaskier went back into more appropriate fare and soon people were dancing and a few other performers took over so he could have a break. He went to sit across from Geralt. “Are you injured?”

“No,” Geralt said. “Weary, at most. Do you perform more tonight?”

Jaskier nodded. “I can take a break to eat, but I’ll have to perform more still. You don’t have to stay. You’ll want a bath.”

Geralt shook his head. “I’ll wait.” 

Jaskier ate lightly, the stress of feeling eyes on him killing his appetite.

“Why does that woman stare at you so?”

“I knew her daughter,” Jaskier said. It was the truth. He had known his sister once. A long time ago. He hadn’t seen her in ten years. When she had slapped him for suggesting that she didn’t have to have the arranged marriage. They had wonderful growing land though. So of course it was necessary. Especially since Jaskier was such a disappointment. “I know so many daughters.”

“Haven’t since we got together.”

“Yes, well what do daughters and sons compare to a witcher?” Jaskier teased. Because honestly Geralt’s friendship that they now truly shared was more satisfying than any random fuck in a bar.

“Have daughters and sons completely lost your interest?”

“I…hadn’t really thought about it?”

“I would…prefer if they had. The same way I have lost the taste for Yennefer and whorehouses.”

Jaskier shrugged. He was fine abstaining until they separated for winter or whenever the path took them in different directions. “I see no problem with that.” He was confused why that made Geralt smile like that. It was a rather beautiful smile. Beautiful was a new word to think of in conjunction with Geralt. He could smell her perfume. “The woman is standing behind me, isn’t she?” Geralt gave a nod. “I have to piss,” Jaskier said and stood up. He ignored his mother and left the dining hall to get some air. But he had taken the wrong door and it wasn’t a side corridor to a balcony and he was trapped.

He turned and gave a head tilt. “Hello, Mother.”

“Julian.”

“Lovely to see you. Do this again in ten years?” He smiled. “You wouldn’t want to cause a scene when you are a visitor in this lord’s house. Trade or pleasure. Though for you they are often one and the same.” His head snapped at the backhand she gave him. He knew her ring cut his lip. “That was a mistake,” he said calmly and wiped the blood.

“Oh, why is that?”

“Because he doesn’t like when people hurt me.”

“He?”

“Me,” Geralt said. Jaskier thought he looked quite intimidating, the candlelight and moonlight casting him both in shadow and a glowing ring. “I tend to object very strongly to people hurting my bard.”

“A mother’s corrective slap hardly hurts. It merely reminds him of his duty.”

“Mother,” Geralt looked at him and Jaskier smiled a bit, the lip bleeding more with the gesture.

“Lady -”

“I do not get introduced to the help,” she said. “Your father is ill. You’ve been a fool and a disgrace long enough. You will come home, marry well, and take up your proper roll as Viscount.”

“My cousin is far better suited to the role,” Jaskier said. “I am not.”

Her hand raised again, and Geralt caught it. “No,” he said firmly.

“A monster’s whore is better than wealth, status? This is the last straw, Julian. You will be stricken from the books. Barred from the lands. I will never again think that I bore a son.”

“You’ve been happy to forget my existence for decades. Why should now be different?” he asked softly. “Did you enjoy my playing, Mother?”

She snorted. “It was pathetic. Tawdry songs, when you could be in the finest concert halls.” 

Jaskier looked at her. “I am sure that it won’t be hard for you to forget you ever had a son.”

“What son?” she smiled at him. “Thank you for your time, bard. It is a pity you don’t know the song I was looking for. A real musician I suppose would be required.”

“No one -” Geralt was growling that low murder rumble he did sometimes.

“Geralt,” Jaskier said softly. “Please?” He was grateful when Geralt stepped back. He was even more grateful when he couldn’t smell her perfume because the scent of blood and death and destiny filled his nose as Geralt hugged him. Jaskier gripped tight in return.

“I’ll give your regrets to the nobleman.”

“You fucking will not,” Jaskier said and maybe he wiped a bit of snot on Geralt’s armor. The blood would hide it. “I have to prove to her, I am better than her.”

“You are,” Geralt reassured.

“Let me play, Geralt. It is who I am.” Jaskier hoped Geralt would understand. He knew Geralt would understand. He played more, until his hands were cramping. But the crowd cheered and the nobleman was pleased and when they went to their room, there was extra coin in the purse. Jaskier put his lute down and sat on the bed. “I haven’t had a family in years. They loathe me. Always were sure I’d give up my flights of fancy, my foolishness. But she was serious.” Jaskier looked at Geralt. “They’ll have signed an edict. I step one foot into Lettenhove, I will be executed.”

“We’ll send all our monsters there,” Geralt said.

“I was always alone in the world,” Jaskier said softly. “But now it is for real.”

“You have family,” Geralt said. “You have so much family. Just waiting for you. You just have to wait. But they are there. An almost father, a daughter, annoying brothers, cousins. All who want you, are excited that you are going to join them.”

Jaskier couldn’t quite picture that imaginary family. And he was sad that Geralt didn’t include himself in this. But he supposed Geralt was trying to make him feel better with thoughts of family and a home, not just friendship and the road. “They sound nice.”

Geralt snorted. “They are loud - like you. And chaos, and bad manners, and loyalty. So much loyalty that wants to wrap around you and protect you.”

“That would be quite novel.” Jaskier lay down and instead of moving to be on a pillow, he put his head on Geralt’s lap. “Is there love? It would be really nice if someone loved me for once.”

“Jaskier, you know there is love. Right in front of you, running its hand through your hair. Comforting you, bringing you to that family who are waiting for you. You just have to wait a little longer. It is better to do it correctly, so there is no mistaking the intention, how much love there is for you.”

Geralt’s hand was so warm on his hair. “That sounds nice. I’d love them all so much.”

“I know you will,” Geralt said.

Jaskier fell asleep, Geralt’s hand in his hair and feeling almost wanted.


	5. Chapter 5

Geralt was concerned. They had been wandering for a couple weeks, since they had run into Jaskier’s mother, and he’d have to present the second courting gift soon. It was supposed to be a gift to show that he understood his beloved, saw who he really was and embraced it. The third month was to introduce family to show they would be welcome. But he had met Jaskier’s family, so he was worried that to delay meeting his would cause a problem. He had intended to take Jaskier to Ciri, but she was too far away to reach in that two weeks.

He looked through his journal, in case it carried any hidden answers to his troubles.

“Here is my question,” Jaskier asked. “Why do you have that book if you can remember everything you read? You’ve never actually carried a journal before.”

Fuck when had Jaskier learned to walk silently after going off to take a shit?

Geralt quickly closed the journal. “A gift…from Ciri. Messages I am only supposed to read on certain days, to feel like she is traveling with me.”

“Ohhhhhhh mmmmmmyyyyyy melllllllitellllle, that is the cutest shit I have ever heard.” Geralt had to flinch from how high pitched Jaskier’s voice got. “What sort of messages?”

Fuck. “Some are private,” he said quickly and was relieved when Jaskier nodded understanding. “But a lot are, have you remembered to eat and a reminder of what berries are safe in the woods to eat. Which I know, but she had learned about this past winter and was eager to share her knowledge.” Geralt closed the book and put it in the saddlebag. “I can trust you won’t snoop?”

There was a gasp. “When do I ever snoop?”

Geralt just looked at him. He kept his gaze flat and enjoyed the way Jaskier cracked and his grin made the crinkles around his eyes move. “Yes I snoop, but you’ve asked me not to snoop there and I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Thank you,” Geralt said. He remembered he had bought something in the last village, not a courting gift, just something he had seen and thought Jaskier might like. “Here something to occupy you.” It was a small tin flute and he tossed it to the bard. 

“Oooh, this should be fun to learn,” Jaskier smiled at him. “Thank you!”

“Of course.” Geralt was pleased, and that swiftly changed when he realized that Jaskier didn’t know how to play it at all, and the noise it made was dreadful. “Hmm, interesting,” he managed to say. He was wondering if there was a way to make Roach step on it.

“I admit I am not versed in wind instruments, always wanted to be. But my family always said if I had to learn it was string, they loathed the sound of wind instruments.”

“It sounds great,” Geralt swiftly replied. 

Jaskier laughed. “No it was dreadful, but I love you for lying like that.”

Geralt froze. It was the first time since they had begun traveling again that Jaskier said such. He always used to drop that phrase “I love for -” in the past and Geralt had ignored it, because he hadn’t understood it. But now that he knew he loved Jaskier, always had, the phrase made so much sense. He wondered if he should start using it as well. But the words wouldn’t pass his lips. After the courtship was finished. It felt wrong to use the words casually like Jaskier could, until after they were handfasted. Love had never come easily to him, like it did to the bard. And he figured the actions he was taking clearly showed Jaskier how he felt.

But that took him back to the courting steps. He was wavering back and forth, but it made sense after meeting Jaskier’s family to switch the steps. The bigger problem was finding his family. Any of his family. “I wish I had a map,” he muttered.

“What do you need a map of?” Jaskier asked. He stopped playing the flute.

“The whole continent,” Geralt said. “Maybe the next town we can purchase one.”

“Give me a few minutes,” Jaskier replied and pulled his own journal and quill out. “You need it fully labeled?”

“No, I know where everything is, I just need the shape of it.” Geralt watched as Jaskier drew a map of the continent filling in mountains and rivers, country borders, but no names. It was rather impressive. “How is this?” Jaskier held up his journal. 

“It will do,” Geralt said, “But I need the page itself.” He smiled as Jaskier tore the page out of the journal without any protest and handed it to him. Geralt stood with the page over their fire and hovered his medallion over it. He spun it slowly over the map and said ancient words. In a minute tiny burns appeared on the paper. One of which was perhaps only a day or two from him. He pressed on that mark and poured a bit of magic into, to let know whoever it was to stay there that a witcher was coming to them. He then dropped the paper into the fire and let it burn. “Thank you. Tomorrow we head south.”

“I though there was a job to the east?” Jaskier frowned. “We’ve been heading that way for a few days.”

“This matters more than a hunt.”

“You never say that.”

Geralt looked at him. “I’ll need you to forgive me,” he said solemnly. “I know there is a plan and this deviates from it, but I feel that in light of meeting your mother this is the correct course of action.”

“I don’t quite understand? What does my mother have to deal with us giving up on a hunt?”

“Do you forgive the alteration to the order of events?” Geralt knelt next to Jaskier. “It is no slight to you, to being proper. Rather more well, we always knew this wouldn’t go perfectly for us. It is us after all.”

“Of course I forgive you,” Jaskier frowned. “Like you said, when has anything worked to plan for us?”

Geralt was relieved. Jaskier was being so understanding about him failing the courting a bit. Ciri would be so angry at him, but she would understand. He put an arm around Jaskier and smiled when for a moment Jaskier leaned into the touch before returning to a respectful distance. For a moment Geralt pictured that Jaskier climbed onto his lap instead, but they were both following the rules. He hoped that it was Vesemir that they were traveling towards. That would be nice, since it had been Jaskier’s mother he had met. An appropriate parallel.

It was Eskel.

Who was frustrated that he had been kept in place, by the brethren call. They walked into the tavern, and he was sitting in the corner, dealing out cards. 

“Geralt? That’s the type of corner you usually sit in,” Jaskier pointed out. “And he has yellow eyes.”

“Come,” Geralt said and pulled Jaskier over. “Eskel, my brother. This is Jaskier, my bard.”

“It isn’t month three,” Eskel looked up. “That isn’t the plan.”

“I know but we ran into Jaskier’s mother and she is a bitch. But still, one family meeting had to be met with another. It seemed logical to flip it.” Geralt pulled out a chair and pushed Jaskier into it, across from Jaskier. “I’ll go get ale, let you two become acquainted.” He went over to the bar and ordered three ales, telling the man to pour very slowly. He watched Jaskier and Eskel out of the corner of his eye. They weren’t talking much, but Jaskier had taken up the hand and they settled into Gwent. Eskel always said the best way to get the measure of a man was to play cards with him. Especially if you cheated and saw their reaction. Geralt smiled a bit at that, because Jaskier always cheated, and was so bad at it. Or rather he pretended he was bad at cheating so you never noticed how very good he was at it.

The ales were poured and he brought them over. Jaskier was chatting away as they played and Eskel was watching him carefully. Eskel gave a slight nod to Geralt, and Geralt relaxed next to him.

“So you enjoy traveling with Geralt?” Eskel asked and put a card down. 

“One of my favourite things.”

“Would anyone else catch your eye to travel with?” Eskel asked and Geralt kicked him under the table. Yes bards had a reputation, and Jaskier’s was incredibly and thoroughly earned, but he had promised they were other’s and Geralt believed him. Jaskier didn’t lie about stuff like that to Geralt.

“I’m very happy with Geralt,” Jaskier replied calmly.

Eskel smiled and it made Geralt smile too, because Eskel was so beautiful when he smiled. “Perhaps though, someone would entice you away.” He cheated and was a couple points away from winning the round.

“…I…who could be more enticing than Geralt?” Jaskier obviously stole a card from the deck.

“I’d put that back, lad,” Eskel said calmly.

“Oops sorry, thought it was my pull,” Jaskier smiled and Geralt knew a different card was put back. So did Eskel but he didn’t say anything, a gleam in his eyes. Eskel was impressed and that made Geralt happy. 

“The Path is a hard road, and any human who walks it tends to leave it.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Been walking with him how long? My feet are well callused.”

“The Kaer in winter is a hard time,” Eskel pointed out. “You are used to crowds and shops and comforts.”

“Geralt said there are comforts to be found. And the pleasure of smaller company who want you there is better than any crowd.”

“Will it bother you, that Ciri comes first?” Eskel asked point blank. “You’ve come first for him for decades, but now you may not.”

Geralt didn’t expect the laughter, and clearly Eskel didn’t either. But it was ringing out of Jaskier so much that he had to put his head on the table to catch his breath. Geralt put his hand out because the table was just filthy enough he didn’t want Jaskier’s face on it. Jaskier pressed against his palm, and was a little warm, but then so was the tavern. Eventually Jaskier sat up. “Sorry about that, but it was just the come first thing.”

“Are you making a dirty joke?” Eskel was glaring at Geralt. “Geralt, has your bard been coming first?”

Geralt growled at him. “Respectful embraces only,” he snapped. “Do you really think after all of Ciri’s lectures I would do anything but that?”

“So your daughter had been lecturing you on manners and behaviour - that explains so much of everything.” Jaskier grinned at him. “Looks like I win,” he said casually.

Geralt almost laughed at how affronted Eskel looked because the man chuckled a bit. “Well played bard. And I hear you play other things very well. Go on, then sing.” Eskel leaned back and crossed his arms.

“How would you know I sing well?”

“Geralt has spoken of it often,” Eskel replied. “And he said you weren’t appalling. I wish too, to be not appalled. I need to know just as he’ll provide your safety, you’ll provide his comfort.”

“Eskel,” Geralt would have flushed in embarrassment but - hell he was flushed a bit. “I can provide.”

“We’re witchers we never have money, but a bard does. Unless he doesn’t, or he does and has no interest in spending it on you,” Eskel glowered a bit. “Do you intend to not treat my brother as he deserves?”

When the fuck did he become some damsel that Eskel was trading for a goat? “I will murder you,” Geralt growled. “He doesn’t have to -”

“Are you suggesting I don’t take care of Geralt?” Jaskier hissed.

“Oh, fuck,” Geralt groaned. He knew that tone. They had lost so many inn rooms over the brawl that always followed that tone. “Jaskier don’t.”

“Are you as old as Geralt?”

“Technically a bit older,” Eskel said. Geralt sighed at the stream of Elder that poured out of Jaskier. He then moved through a few languages before settling back into common and cursing out Eskel for daring to suggest that Jaskier didn’t look after Geralt. “I…” Eskel looked to Geralt. “What was that?”

“Sometimes when he gets mad he expresses himself via all the languages he learned in university. Betting he also writes a song making fun of you.”

“Damn right I am. And see if I sing for you, you -”

“I’d like it if you sang, Jaskier,” Geralt said softly and Jaskier immediately softened.

“Of course, some of your favourites.” Jaskier glared at Eskel. “If he looks grumpier than normal because of you, there will be consequences.”

“Did your bard just make I’m watching you fingers at me?” Eskel asked him and Geralt just shrugged. 

“Love makes people rather defensive,” Geralt tried not to chuff up too much as he said that. He watched Jaskier move around the tavern, draw people in with his winks and smiles.

“He is flirty,” Eskel commented.

“And we are stoic. Part of the job description. He promised we would be faithful to each other.”

“Hmm,” Eskel said. “He does play well.”

Geralt smiled a bit. “He does. First gift was perfect.”

“Oh?”

“Enchanted satchel to keep something water protected, and if lost will return to him,” Geralt was still damn proud of that satchel.

Eskel grunted and nodded. “That is a great first gift.”

“I know, he cared about this music book I got by accident, and that was what made me think a good satchel for it for traveling.”

“That is fucking brilliant,” Eskel said and held up his ale mug.

Geralt clinked his against it. “So you are gift two, because with meeting his mother decided to switch out. Was worried it would be weird if I didn’t introduce him to family.” He laughed when Jaskier pretended to sit in a woman’s lap and she smacked his arse. Good coins were being thrown, they’d have a decent room tonight.

“We going to have to deal with a lot of in laws?” Eskel was clearly impressed with the money Jaskier was drawing from the crowd.

“Nope, they disowned him. Made his sad. No hunting in Lettenhove, let them fucking rot.”

“I’ll spread the word. Farmers, don’t like their boy is in love with a witcher?” Eskel looked ready to burn the whole of the district down. 

“Actually he has, well had now, a title. Viscount. Makes it worse that he loves me. But you should have seen him stand against her. Didn’t even flinch when she called him my whore. Turned it all away. For us, for the Path.”

Eskel nodded. “You have chosen well, Geralt. And we’ll be family to him.”

“I know, I promised him that. And that yes he had to spend a few months nameless because we were doing this right, but after that he would have more than he ever had before.”

“Except for money,” Eskel said.

“Except for that, but he doesn’t seem to mind.” Jaskier smiled at the both. “Oh no,” Geralt sighed.

“Ladies and Gentlemen we are blessed to have the company of two virile and gorgeous heroes in our midst. Let us serenade these perfect specimens together!” Jaskier broke into Toss a Coin.

Geralt felt Eskel tense. “He isn’t teasing,” he promised softly.

“Hmm,” Eskel rubbed at his scars a bit.

Coins were thrown and Jaskier gathered them and brought more ale over. “Tell Eskel he is handsome please,” Geralt asked of Jaskier.

Jaskier nodded and raised his ale. “You are very handsome.”

“Now you both mock?”

“Yes because I mock men who can kill me with a flick of their wrist.” Jaskier snorted a bit. “Yeah, you have scars. Still hot. Can’t hide that witcher form, and you have a great jawline, nice hair. Better lips than Geralt if we are being honest here.”

“I…”

“They are much pillowier than mine,” Geralt teased to watch his brother smile, and it made Jaskier giggle which made it all even better.

“Wait, when you are with other witchers, do you play? Like tease and joke and stuff? I need to see more of this.”

“You will come winter. Wait until the pranks start,” Eskel sighed.

“What pranks?”

“Geralt and Ciri play pranks all the time,” Eskel said. 

“Oh ho ho, it is my birthday. You and I are drinking vast quantities of ale and you are telling me everything.” Jaskier pulled over a tavern wench and gave her a good bit of coin to keep the drinks coming. Geralt was not surprised when he ended up with a lap full of bard after the fifth ale. “Is the whole family as nice as you?” Jaskier slurred.

Eskel ruffled his hair. “You’ll find out. We are looking forward to you being part of the family.”

“That’s nice,” Jaskier said and passed out.

“Honestly, I don’t know why the books made courting seem so difficult, it is going very smoothly,” Geralt said softly to Eskel. “They said to anticipate complications and delays and a host of issues, but he accepts every flower, the satchel was a success, now meeting you.”

“I think maybe it was because sometimes the courting is about land and titles?” Eskel offered. “You two know you are in love, and are doing the courting more because it is fun and romantic, instead of impressing parents.”

“Hmm, that makes sense,” Geralt agreed. “For us it is a dance, not an obligation.”

“You know you might actually have to dance at some point.”

“I will.”

“You will look like an idiot.”

Geralt laughed a bit as he cuddled Jaskier close. “For him, I don’t mind in the least.”

“Well I think we can call this a success,” Eskel nodded. “Let’s get him up to the room.”

Geralt carried Jaskier up and he and Eskel talked for a few hours and then settled in to meditate together. In the morning they headed out traveling together until a fork in the road. Geralt didn’t laugh at the squeak that Jaskier made when Eskel pulled him into a deep hug.

“I think you might just be good enough for Geralt,” Eskel said. “I hope that I appealed?”

“Umm, yes?”

“Excellent, then I look forward to this winter when it all has come together. Farewell both of you, don’t get dead.” Geralt didn’t wave or say anything and they traveled down a different path.

“Well, that was…interesting,” Jaskier said after a time.

“You liked him?” Geralt tried not to sound too eager. “You’d be content to spend more time with him?”

“…Yes, he seemed very nice and a good foil to your personality. But you know that I would never prefer another witcher over you right? That I have no interest in traveling with any but you.”

Geralt smiled softly, at that. The second courting gift, presentation and acceptance of family had been a success. “I know,” he said. One more gift and then they could be handfasted. “Jaskier?”

“Yes?”

“How do you feel about kisses? Would you consider them a respectful embrace?” Maybe they could wiggle the rules just a little bit.

Jaskier snorted, “Not the way I do them.”

So much for that thought. But now he had many more interesting ones to ponder.


	6. Chapter 6

Jaskier knew he was missing something. Because it was weird as fuck that Geralt had insisted on them traveling to meet another witcher, and how…friendly that witcher was right away. Witchers became friendly after a dozen or so years and they’ve almost killed you. That was how it worked, that was the rules.

But maybe it wasn’t?

Hmm, he’d have to think about this more. Though he had already been thinking about it, over thinking about it for a week. They were headed somewhere, he didn’t know where. He usually paid a bit more attention to the road, but again he was busy with those thoughts about Eskel. He had been nice, terrible cheat at cards, but not every witcher could be perfect like Geralt.

Not that Geralt was perfect. He was just Jaskier’s standard for witchers. And a friendlyish one was disturbing. He had been really friendly. They were sitting by a fire, and everything slotted in place. “You are not getting rid of me!” Jaskier yelled at Geralt.

Geralt was rotating a rabbit on the fire and looked around, as if Jaskier could be talking to someone else. “Jaskier?”

“Eskel! You are not trading him off to me at some point. Witchers are not interchangeable. You are my witcher and if you think you are getting rid of me again, you will suffer mightily. Your reputation will never recover from the songs I write. I will sneak itching powder into your pants, I will learn to command an army of itty bitty spiders to crawl into your boots, and I will never, NEVER, was your hair again.” Jaskier was breathing hard and fully shouting by the end. “I don’t care how flirty and attractive he was, you. Only you.”

Geralt nodded. “Fine?” He looked completely confused, the lummox. 

“You aren’t planning that I switch off to Eskel?” Jaskier asked.

“Why the fuck would I do that? When everything is going so well?” Geralt looked pissed and then he looked horrified. “Isn’t it going well?”

Jaskier had to soothe him, because he looked so upset. “No, it is going well. The best it has ever gone. Well, year sixteen was pretty great.”

“You met a unicorn.”

Jaskier smiled dreamily. That had been a dream come true. Geralt had taken him further east than they had gone before, past where most maps went and said Jaskier had earned this. And there was a grove and Geralt had told him he had to be quiet, truly quiet, and it would be worth it. The first unicorn walked in and Jaskier had begun to cry, bit his lip to not make a sound. He still sometimes thought he had dreamed it, but he didn’t care, it was a perfect dream. Geralt had hugged him then. One of the rare hugs that wasn’t just about warmth.

Though these days there were lots of hugs. And hand holding. That was nice. He was rather enjoying this new tactile Geralt. Must come from being a father. Children needed lots of hugs. He assumed not like he had gotten a lot. “Do you hug Ciri a lot?”

“What is with you tonight, and the random thoughts?” Geralt was frowning, “And yes I hug Ciri. Triss informed me girls need at least three hugs a day to feel loved. And with everything Ciri has been through I aim for four to five. Vesemir was big on cupping her neck. Lambert spinning in circles, Eskel forehead kisses.”

“Did you have a schedule?” Jaskier teased and his eyes widened as Geralt focused very intently on the cooking. “You did. You big scary old as fuck witchers, had a schedule in place for how much to touch Ciri so she didn’t feel neglected or unwanted. Did you come up with it yourselves?”

“Yennefer did, but we adapted it,” Geralt muttered.

“Affection post weapons training?” Jaskier guessed, and saw Geralt’s small nod. He was curious. “What is it like being a father?”

“Confusing,” Geralt said after a moment. “Frustrating. Exhausting. Wonderful.” He took the rabbit off the fire.

“Tell me,” Jaskier said softly and they ate the rabbit and some greens they had found and Geralt talked about Ciri, how swiftly she took to training, how her smile warmed the whole keep. How her night terrors had almost shook the keep apart until they slowly stopped happening, her secure in her belief all the witchers would keep her safe. How Yennefer and Triss were teaching her magic, and how she loved Eskel’s goats almost as much as he did. Jaskier smiled at every little detail and big story Geralt shared. “You love her so much,” Jaskier said when Geralt quieted with a fond smile on his face. “It is a good look on you.”

“I do love her. She is…” Geralt shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Oh, you have to share now,” Jaskier said.

“She is the moon,” Geralt was almost whispering, clearly embarrassed at being almost poetic. “Bright, beautiful, when she is with me it is full shining making everything bathed in magic and possibility. When she is gone, it dark when the moon is thin, but you still know it is there, even if you can’t see it. And this is why I leave words to you, I am poor with them.”

“Is everyone you care about a piece of nature in your mind?” Jaskier was fascinated, this was an aspect of Geralt he had never seen before, something that he would have never dared shared. “What is Yennefer?”

“Mountains. Implacable, eternal. You don’t move a mountain, you go to it. But if you are clever you can carve into mountains find a home in them.”

“Triss?” Jaskier was inching closer.

“A lake, cool refreshing, sustains the life of those who find it, but always be wary of depths that you can’t see.”

This was amazing. “Your fellow witchers.”

“Vesemir is the stars that guide us home. Eskel, Lambert, trees. They provide shelter, warmth. A thing you can lean against when you need a break.”

“Lovely,” Jaskier said softly. He was now sitting next to Geralt. “Thank you, for sharing that.” He rested his shoulder against Geralt’s for just a moment. 

“You don’t ask after yourself?”

Jaskier was quiet. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, how he was desperately curious, but after all that beauty to find out he was fungus, or a bug or something, it would hurt indescribably. “I suppose I am something small,” he said finally. He looked at Geralt who looked confused.

“How do you not know you are my sun? The thing that makes the world bright, and happy, and without whom everything is cold and shadowed and unbearable?”

“Oh,” Jaskier swallowed thickly. “I umm…see.” He didn’t see at all and pretended that some rabbit was stuck in his throat, and wiped a tear away.

“You need words.”

“Everyone does, words are handy? They let you know things.” Jaskier laughed a bit. “I can translate your grunts and the thousand different meanings of hmm, and fuck, but this more talking thing? I admit it makes life a little easier.”

“I thought the satchel would talk for me. And the meeting Eskel. Actions are words.”

Oh for fucks sake, if it wasn’t such a good thing, Jaskier would burn the satchel, but then the book would suffer and he couldn’t do that. “They do. The flowers say a lot of words -”

“I know that, the language of flowers is very specific, though confusing because did you know some mean like polar opposite things? It was so frustrating during the research period.”

Jaskier was confused. “You know flowers have a language?” He had heard that, remembered his one cousin had been super into it, sending flowers that mean fuck you, you pathetic coward, I hope you rot to people. But the fact that Geralt knew that was a shock. “What research?”

And why was Geralt flushing bright red? It was so cute, but even more confusing in an already confusing night.

“I didn’t know how to do it right,” Geralt said. “Ciri said I had to do it right, getting you back, having you forever. So I did some research. We all did some research, because none of us new the rules.” Oh fuck, that hadn’t been a random bouquet, it had been a full out apology bouquet and he thought Jaskier had understood it. Jaskier made sure his panic didn’t show on his face, but it was clear that Geralt could smell it on him. “I’m sorry. It is just not the sort of thing witchers are versed in, and I had to do it properly. Make sure that it met your standards. Because you deserve it. You deserve so much, so much more than I gave you before, when I didn’t understand that you weren’t a storm, you were the sun. I know it took me too long, but we are here now. And it is going well.”

“It is,” Jaskier reassured him. “I couldn’t ask for more than what we have now, who we are now.”

“I could, and I know based on your previous proclivities that you could too,” Geralt muttered. “But soon. There has to be some wiggle room involved.”

Jaskier had no clue what fucking rules that Geralt meant, he was still focused on what the hell Geralt was doing knowing flower language. And desperately trying to remember what had been in that bouquet Geralt had given him. “Soon, have to follow the rules,” Jaskier agreed. It must have something to do with the Path and he knew that Geralt took that more seriously than anything. “I absolutely believe in the rules,” Jaskier added, to be supportive of whatever the fuck was going on with Geralt.

Why did that make him look so damn glum? There was too much going on, and Jaskier’s brain decided to circle back to the very original point. “So Eskel wasn’t flirting with me, and you do not plan to send me trailing off with a different witcher.”

Who knew that Geralt could giggle? Jaskier wanted to hear that sound a million more times.

“You thought that was flirting? How?” The giggle kept going and Geralt looked fucking gorgeous with that giant smile, and fire lighting his skin gold. “The shovel talk was flirting. Only you could think that.” The giggles tapered off and Jaskier wanted them back. He didn’t know the phrase shovel talk, but whatever. “Ship you off with Eskel, that is funny, Jaskier.”

“Yes, very funny. My humour is world renowned after all,” Jaskier agreed. There was a soft laugh and another of those hugs that Geralt now handed out. He wondered if Geralt had a hug your bard schedule too.

*  
They went through three villages and none had a library where he could look up flower language, and besides he didn’t actually know half the names of the flowers that Geralt kept handing him. There was definitely a hug schedule though, Jaskier had noticed. Because they came at such consistent times and in certain scenarios. They were all brief, but definitely there. And after a hunt they were a bit longer and he swore Geralt’s lips almost grazed his neck a couple times. It made him shiver a bit, and think thoughts he knew he was not supposed to think about Geralt. 

Because he damn well knew Geralt didn’t have those sorts of thoughts about him. But still with that almost graze and the hugs. Feelings that Jaskier had buried were slowly climbing up, like zombies. Oh that was a poor metaphor. It should be flowers returning in the spring, but no travel with a witcher for a few decades, your first thought - zombies.

That could be because Geralt was off setting up to kill them when the sun was down. Which would still be a while as they approached the summer solstice. Jaskier was walking through the market, because he never went along for zombie hunts - there was no poetry in zombies. He bought some new lute strings, some dried fruit, and there was a table selling enchanted items. Well, most of it was utter rubbish. He had spent long enough with Geralt that he could feel magic a little bit. And there was little on the table.

Except in the one bracelet. It was twisted metal like a torque but meant for a wrist. “That? What is it?”

“Protection, aids defense,” she said. 

“No, there is something else to it,” Jaskier said. He damn well knew what protection magic felt like, the million times Geralt had cast Quen at him to keep him safe during a hunt.

“You have a good eye. It is more specific. It protects the wearer’s mind. Gives them fortitude of thought against magic. No love magic, no coercion or anything will touch the wearer.”

“So…say someone accidentally had wished to be always near someone via a djinn, would wearing this -?” Jaskier tried to not look too eager, because that could drive the price up.

“It would not break the curse, but it would lessen the impulse.”

Jaskier began to swiftly negotiate and they came to an agreement. He pocketed the bracelet and went to the tavern and sang his heart out. He fell asleep waiting for Geralt, but was woken when the witcher stumbled in near dawn. “Geralt?”

“All taken care of,” Geralt assured him. “Not even injured.”

“Good,” Jaskier was relieved. Zombies were both easy and difficult to deal with. “You need sleep.” There was a grunt and Jaskier undressed Geralt and pushed him into the bed. He could use more sleep as well but it was a rather small bed. 

“Cuddles can be respectful right?” Geralt asked already mostly asleep.

He had no idea why Geralt had become so obsessed with respectability, but the man was holding the blanket up. Jaskier slid in and it felt good the way Geralt wrapped around him. “Respectful enough,” Jaskier agreed. He saw the bracelet sitting on the night table and carefully eased it onto Geralt’s wrist. It looked really good against his skin.

“Wha that? Head quieter?”

“Bracelet I bought you, protects your mind, enchanted.”

“You no buy. Only me. That’s rules.”

Poor witcher was barely coherent, so exhausted. “Well, sometimes rules are worth breaking, just a little. And it looks good on you.”

“Wanna be less respectful, Jaskier.” 

Before Jaskier could respond to that, he could hear Geralt snoring. He looked at the bracelet on Geralt’s wrist. He listened to the snores for a while, made sure there was no chance of Geralt waking up. “You are the road. The Path I follow, that I always want to follow. You don’t lead me home. You are home.” He was quiet just in case, but it was met with snores.

Geralt was trying so hard to be a good and true friend, and all it was doing was making Jaskier fall in love with him again, like he had been once long ago. He drifted off to sleep, a song about the sun and the road forming in his mind.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i played with a famous quote from the actress Rita Hayworth said once, "they go to bed with Gilda, and wake up with me," in here.

Geralt stared at the bracelet on his wrist. He loved it, but it also bothered him. It wasn’t in the rules. The courted didn’t give a gift until the wedding. Up until then the only gift the courted was supposed to give was their acceptance of the courting process. Them liking their gifts was gift enough. But for the first time, in a long time, the line that he could almost see in the air that would guide him to Yennefer was muted, and that was nice. The weight of the bracelet felt good, like Jaskier was always touching him.

But still the rules.

He spent the whole day thinking about that, when he should have been thinking about the final courting gift. And the day turned into a week rather too quickly. Fuck. Geralt thought about where they were. And fuck it was worse, but Jaskier would be happy. “Want to stop for a couple nights in Beauclair?” He hated that city, it was so…bright. But the happy squeal from Jaskier was nice. Even a respectable hug.

Geralt seriously hated how Jaskier decided to actually take this seriously. He never took anything seriously, but courting, courting was the one time in his fucking life that Jaskier decided to go with no fucking. It was killing Geralt, but he thought he understood. Jaskier had never been treated like this before. Like he mattered. That someone wanted him around for forever, just for him. It made Geralt want to murder everyone that they all thought Jaskier was so dispensable, when he was the thing that mattered most in the world. But Jaskier would frown on Geralt hunting down every one night stand or family member he had.

Well, maybe not. Jaskier could be vicious sometimes. Most times. He was a really bloodthirsty bard. But that would be a lot of people, so Geralt just vowed that Jaskier would know how much he mattered.

And a way to show he mattered was a stop in fucking Beauclair. And if he couldn’t figure out a good gift there for Jaskier, then he deserved to be rejected.

They made their way to the glistening city, and found an inn on the outskirts, because any further in would cost a fortune. Which they didn’t have, and Geralt needed every spare coin he had for the last gift, the one that showed he fully saw and understood Jaskier and embraced who the man was. But honestly that was rather hard to grasp at. Jaskier was so many things, and there wasn’t one thing that could show all that. Perhaps if he focused on one aspect of Jaskier.

Music.

Clothes?

Care, loyalty?

Fuck. He was completely fucked on this last gift. Nothing would be as good as the satchel. It was just late enough they stayed at the inn, Jaskier didn’t even break out his lute. Instead they sat at a table and played cards as they ate. “Not playing tonight?”

“No, couple days off I think, throat has a bit of a tickle, want to baby it.”

“We should take you to a healer,” Geralt was ready to stand up and hunt one down. 

“I’m fine, just a rest,” Jaskier played a card, “And I win. Like always.”

“You know some consider me a fair player.”

“You know most are still a bit scared of you and willing to lie about your talents?”

“You know most don’t cheat when they play me.”

Jaskier grinned. “Prove it.”

“Hmm,” Geralt glared a bit at him, but it was a teasing glare. Jaskier did love Gwent, but a new deck was hardly a courting gift. They went up to their room, and Jaskier changed his lute strings, Geralt cleaned his weapons and thought. He was lost in his thoughts when he heard Jaskier curse. “Problem?”

“I don’t think I can patch this particular doublet anymore,” Jaskier said holding it up. “Shame, this one is rather important.”

“You wore it for the bardic competition six years ago, said it was lucky.”

“You remember that?” Jaskier was clearly surprised.

“I was an asshole to you, didn’t mean I wasn’t paying attention,” Geralt replied. He looked at the doublet. Oh, oh that was perfect. He had spent so long dismissing Jaskier’s clothes as impractical for their life, made fun of all the fuss and bother. But if he replaced the doublet, picked something that would please Jaskier, not something he personally found practical for the road, that would show that he saw and understood Jaskier.

The trick was getting away from Jaskier to find the right sort of shop and find something that seemed to suit Jaskier. He could take the one that Jaskier just tossed aside for size comparison. He was sure he could come up with an excuse in the morning. He rolled his wrist feeling the bracelet against it. He had sworn not to ask, but he couldn’t help himself. “Why did you give me this, Jaskier?”

“It offered magical protections. And with everything you’ve been doing for me. With the…change in how we are, I just wanted to.”

“But you want to follow the rules, this isn’t in the rules,” Geralt pointed out. “If you are willing to break that, we could absolutely break respectable embraces.” He just wanted Jaskier squirming on his lap. Clothes could stay on, that would be respectable that no one back at the keep would be disappointed. He thought of all the baths they had had, Jaskier’s pale skin, his chest hair, those strong arms and thighs, so much stronger than you expected under the idiotic and impractical clothes. Geralt cleared his throat because those sorts of thoughts were killing him.

“No one has ever respected me before, Geralt,” Jaskier said softly. “You keep saying respectable embrace, which yes is a weird and confusing phrase, and eventually I will want to know exactly where you got it from, I assume your daughter, but no one has ever respected me before.”

“You are famous.” Geralt couldn’t process this. “You win competitions, accolades. You teach.”

“There is an actress in Novigard, really famous, and she did this talk I went to when I was at school. She was aging, but still stunning. And some idiot didn’t ask her about her craft, they asked her about her string of lovers and partners and I remember she said “They go to bed with Florine and wake up with me.”

“Fuck, a doppler. Actually, that could be a really clever job for a doppler,” Geralt said. “Was she stone. Oh shit, wait -”

“I love how focused your brain is sometimes,” Jaskier was laughing and Geralt was confused. “It was her most famous role. A cunning seductress. People went to bed with her expecting her to be the character, and in the morning she was herself, flaws and all and they ran.”

“I don’t understand,” Geralt frowned. He didn’t like these types of conversations, when it was serious Jaskier. Because over the years he had learned, a serious Jaskier was a hurting one. And he had pieced it together slowly, just how much of Jaskier was hurting just there under the surface. “You’ve had lovers. Lots of lovers.” Geralt was jealous of them all these days, but Jaskier was going to be his now, and it was fine.

“And when they woke up with me they ran.”

“I ran. Sometimes,” Geralt said.

“Yes, but bit different. And you were the only one to ever come back. I know sometimes, not often but once or twice, we didn’t run into each other by happenstance, you sought me out.” Jaskier was smiling. “Just once or twice, but still first to come back.”

“Nine,” Geralt shared. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“Nine times, I sought you out and found you. Another four or five where just couldn’t find you and realized I perhaps wasn’t supposed to.” Geralt scratched his cheek. “Until the last time. A few months ago. You know, I’m going to wake up next to you for the rest of your stupid short life.” Geralt rubbed a hand over his heart at that thought. “But we might have Triss fix that.”

“I know, it must seem so short to you. I have what another hundred and fifty years, maybe a hundred and eighty if we’re lucky?”

Wait. Geralt looked at him. No. “Ciri was clear. Humans die. I said humans have to live what like a hundred and fifty years, and she said no it was like seventy. Jaskier you are fort -”

“Nope!”

“I know, never a bard’s age, you told me but -”

“No, Geralt, good lord, do I look forty?”

Geralt looked at him. “You look gorgeous.” He smiled proud of himself. In the books they had read about conversing with your courtee, they were very clear, only use complimentary words.

“I know I look gorgeous, clearly I look gorgeous, though not as striking as you, but still have my own stellar appearance, but do I look forty?”

“No, you don’t seem much changed by time. I sort of assumed you had a glamour or something.”

“If I aged I absolutely would,” Jaskier agreed, “You know me well.”

Well enough to know a doublet was absolutely the perfect last courting gift, Geralt was more and more confident in that idea. “But you don’t. Have a glamour enchantment. I can’t smell anything in your blood but humanity.”

“See, you know how you told me never ever to touch anything in your potions bag?”

That was a fucking terrifying sentence. “Yes. Many times. And to absolutely never ever, fucking ever, drink anything in there.”

“Yes, but once I was a wee bit…intoxicated, and my brain had the oh so clever idea that licking wasn’t drinking.”

How did it get worse? “You licked the bottles?” Geralt was trying to stay calm.

“No, how would that do anything interesting? It would just taste of glass or metal. I picked the three prettiest ones and opened the stoppers and took the tiniest, barely there licks.”

“It should have killed you.” Even a sniff of some of them would be enough to kill a mortal. “Which ones are pretty?”

“Shimmery silver, golden swirls, and the one that cannot decide if it is blue or green.”

“The strongest healing potion, the protect from poison and bleeding, and make stronger.” Geralt blinked at him. “How the fuck didn’t that kill you, Jaskier?”

“I said the licks were tiny!” Jaskier winced and curled up a bit. “Next morning I wanted to die though, thought it was the hangover. My head was killing me, the blood in my veins just felt wrong.”

“I would think so!” Geralt was horrified.

“When we parted I went to a healer. It seems destiny kept me alive, and by destiny I mean the rotgut the barkeep had given me was of such high alcohol content that it sort of protected me? But they were witcher potions, which are really fucked up things. The healer thinks it changed me a bit. Aging at about 1/4th the rate of most people. I am the living proof of the saying what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.”

“You won’t die soon.”

“I might, we lead exciting lives, but no, we will have more time together. If you would like. That is a long time to wake up with me.”

Fuck, respectable embraces. Geralt went to Jaskier and picked him up from where he was sitting and held him in the air as he hugged him as tightly as he could. Jaskier’s legs wrapped around his wait and Geralt found he could squeeze even tighter. He buried his face in Jaskier’s throat and dared to press his lips against skin for just a moment. He couldn’t resist and pressed one more kiss before he let go and put Jaskier back down. “I want to wake up forever with you. To prove it, tomorrow I am going shopping and you can’t come along.”

“That was a very weird sentence, Geralt.”

“I know, but still.”

“Very well. I do have some shopping to do though. How about I go to the east market, and you the west?”

“Do they have clothing shops in the west?”

“They do,” Jaskier nodded to himself, and Geralt figured he was guessing that Geralt needed repairs or something. The rest of the evening before bed they were quiet together. They went to bed and he felt Jaskier’s hand against his shoulder. “Geralt?”

“Hmm?”

“Would it be very unrespectable to ask you to hold me?”

“No,” Geralt said softly and pulled Jaskier into his arms. “I think we can consider this a respectful embrace.” He could feel the tension ease in Jaskier, something he was holding in, letting go. “I look forward to waking up with you,” Geralt added quietly, so quiet that a human ear wouldn’t pick it up, unless that ear was as close to Geralt’s mouth as Jaskier’s was. Jaskier shivered and then melted. He was asleep a little later. Geralt followed him swiftly.

*

“What about that green one?” Geralt growled in the shop. He hated the space. It was so fucking smelly with perfume. And the clerks were scared of him, and everything was so bright. It was the exact sort of store Jaskier shopped at. “The green looks completely useless. Is it this size?” He held up the old lucky doublet.

“No, for ready to go in a size like that we have these ones,” the man said. He brought forward three of them.

“That one the shoulders aren’t giant. Giant shoulders are important. Yes?” Geralt looked down at the worn thin one. “This has big shoulders.”

“Shoulders are slimming for the coming year. The emphasis is going to be on the detailing, or I haven’t been in the business for sixty years. Now none of these will fit you.”

“No, shit. It is for a world renowned bard.”

“Ohhhh, for a competition?”

“I don’t know. Who can figure out why he wears what on a given day?"

“How about we make this simple for you,” the man suggested and named the price of all three.

Fuck, Jaskier spent that much on clothes? How much money did the bard have sometimes? Geralt was definitely not the one providing financially in their relationship, but he provided stories, and love, and protection - that counted too. He glared at the doublets. “Not the red. He was wearing red when we -” Geralt cleared his throat.

“Oh, darling, why didn’t you say you fucked up and are trying to make it better,” the man sighed. “You need better than these.”

“I can barely afford those,” Geralt snapped. “And it isn’t a fuck up, it is the third courting gift!”

“Good lord, who does that anymore?” The man was putting the doublets away and went in the back. Geralt growled a bit, because clearly they did that. Because Jaskier was nobility and worth it. He supposed though for the merchant class such things were no longer practiced. That made sense he supposed. And the books were very clear about the necessity of it for nobility. Humans were confusing. A new doublet was brought out, and Geralt frowned at it.

“It’s grey. He isn’t a grey sort of man.”

“No, it is a specially treated fabric.” The man took it to the door and in the light it shimmered. Not grey, opalescence. The stitching was an ice blue and it was an incredible thing. “Same price as the others.”

“Bullshit.”

“The same price, and since it is for a bard, you will tell him he is to mention my shop loudly and often. The word of mouth is worth more than the crowns if he is really famous.”

“Jaskier. He created that Toss a Coin song.” Geralt touched the fabric, it seemed almost alive.

“Then yes business will be driven here.”

Geralt paid and the man carefully wrapped and boxed the doublet and Geralt wound his way through the streets. He could smell something sweet and was following that scent. He found a bakery and bought a few treats to take back to the room. He was headed back to the inn, and e found himself at one of those stupid fountains Beauclair had everywhere, and a bard was singing. Nowhere near as good as Jaskier was, but no one was. He started to move along but stopped.

That wasn’t right.

He glared at the bard. Everyone was swaying to the tune, but he was getting it fucking wrong. Really wrong, he just sang a line completely wrong. “Bard,” he snapped, “If you are going to sing that song, sing it correctly.” The whole crowd’s attention was on him now, and Geralt cursed himself. “Or never mind, continue butchering the song.” 

“And how do you know I am wrong? You don’t exactly look like the musical sort,” the bard called to him. “Or do witchers now kill monsters with song instead of sword?” The crowed laughed a bit. 

“I know because I was there when the fucking song was written,” Geralt growled. “I was there when Jaskier spent hours by the fire, refining the words to make perfect rhyme and meter, to make a song that lingered in minds and hearts, and I will not listen to you get all that hard work wrong. So I will take my leave.”

“Sing it witcher,” the bard shouted at him. “Prove your words are not just talk. Sing the whole song for the large crowd gathered here.” Geralt looked at the bard who was smirking, sure that Geralt wouldn’t do it, and Geralt wouldn’t. He wasn’t until the bastard said, “Besides my changes make the song better.” 

Right, well a little humiliation was fine then. “No, they don’t. Because all of Jaskier’s songs are fucking perfect,” Geralt snarled. A few people edged away and he didn’t really care, eyes on the bard. He started to sing the song _Under the Star’s Gaze_. Jaskier had written it about fifteen years ago, they had been in a clearing and there had been shooting stars, and Geralt had told him about how different the stars looked depending on where you were on the continent but how they always shone, even when you couldn’t see them, and there was comfort in that. He had been delirious with pain from a Braxa fight. But then the next few nights, Jaskier had built a song about lovers finding each other via stars, until their pure love put them in the sky when they died.

Geralt knew he didn’t have a good singing voice, hell he had a bad speaking voice, but he didn’t care. Jaskier’s words deserved to be heard correctly. He also enjoyed the way it wiped the smirk off the bard’s face. He finished the song. “There, sing it right next time, or don’t bother singing it all.” He turned to leave, the crowd all struck silent by a witcher singing a lover’s ballad, and saw Jaskier, a few parcels in his hands.

Shit. Geralt flushed and decided that they were not talking about it. He hurried to the inn and used the last of the spare coin to buy a bottle of wine. He went up to the room and drank half of it without pause. Jaskier was still staring at him. “Right. I am very fine with the idea of us never talking about that,” Geralt said. He still had the box in his other hand. “Here just open this. It is the last thing. Please open it and accept it.” Jaskier was not taking the box. Geralt finished the wine, put the bottle on the table. “Open it, please.”

Jaskier finally took the box. “Geralt?”

“Nope,” Geralt shook his head. “Whatever you think you saw - you did not see. Open the box.”

He rocked on his heals a bit. “This is the last,” he repeated. “It shows that I know you. I see you.”

“Uh-huh,” Jaskier said, and he was crying.

Fuck.

All the fuck.

“Why are you crying?” Geralt asked. 

“I’m not allowed to say, because it would mean talking about what I saw.” Jaskier opened the box and pulled the doublet out. “It is beautiful,” he said, and then the crying turned to sobs.

“The bastard tricked me into buying shit didn’t he?” 

“No, no it is stunning and I’ll look amazing. The stitching is incredible,” Jaskier said trying to draw air in. “Geralt you know all the words to one of my songs.”

Great, they were talking about it. “I know the words to all the songs you’ve written next to me.” Geralt shrugged. “How could I not?” And that made Jaskier cry even more. “I can forget them?” Jaskier shook his head at that. “Jaskier is the doublet right? Is it acceptable?”

“First the fucking satchel, and now the doublet!” Jaskier shouted.

“Well, Eskel is there in the middle.” Geralt was losing the thread of the conversation. “Though he agreed with how good the satchel was.” Jaskier screamed a little and that was not good. “Jaskier?”

“You know my songs. You defended my songs against a hack who changed the fucking key.”

“Is that why the sound of it was so wrong?” Geralt frowned a bit. “It just wasn’t right. If people are going to sing your songs, they should do it right. They’ll never sound as good as you, but they can at least not fuck up.” 

He had arms full of Jaskier, and his shirt was getting soaked with tears. “I’m sorry my singing was that bad.”

“It was awful,” Jaskier agreed. “And no one. No one has ever, would ever, do that for me. You know my songs, Geralt. You wake up next to me, and you know my songs. You know me.”

“I do, hence the doublet.” Geralt rubbed his back. “Please tell me you accept. I can’t have made it this far, to lose you now.”

“You are never fucking losing me, Geralt. You sang one of my songs. There is no force on this continent, in the world we cannot see, in anything to come that is taking me away from you.” Jaskier stepped back a bit and kissed his jaw. “There is no one as true as you.”

Geralt didn’t quite understand that phrase, it wasn’t one of the official acceptance courting phrases from the books, but it sounded nice and formal. And Jaskiery, so he took it as confirmation. “So we are to the next part?” he could barely contain his eagerness.

“We are, we are at the next chapter of our story,” Jaskier sniffled a little. He went and put the doublet on. “It is lovely, Geralt.”

Geralt was not getting handfasted in fucking Beauclair, he hated this place. They should make their promises in the wild. With a druid priest. He kissed Jaskier’s head as he preened in the mirror. “We need to find the right person and moment for what comes next. I know we should do it now, but Beauclair is not us.”

“No no, you hate it here,” Jaskier agreed, smoothing a hand down the fabric. “Whenever, is fine by me.”

“It won’t be long,” Geralt swore. Because once they were handfasted, they could quit being so respectable. “Would you like in the woods, or on the beach?”

“Either sounds nice,” Jaskier said. “Oh look at this stitching. You singing and this doublet. Fuck you spoil me.”

Oh, Geralt liked the sound of that. “I don’t have as much money as you often do. Spoiling can be little things, right? Like the flowers?” He really wanted to spoil Jaskier.

“Hug me again?”

Geralt could absolutely do that.

“You spoil me with every touch you give me now, after decades of distance.”

Geralt hugged him again. That was a thing he could absolutely do. “I also have sweets,” he said remembering the bag he dropped. 

“Lovely,” Jaskier said.

“Lovely,” Geralt repeated, looking directly at the man he soon would be betrothed to. Lovely was a lovely word.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't not give this to you right away.
> 
> ENJOY HOW JASKIER MISSES THAT HE JUST GOT BETROTHED TO BE MARRIED.
> 
> (the thing that Jaskier concludes has happened is complete bullshit that i made up for the sake of the story)

Jaskier had been bothered by Geralt’s weird emphasis on the rules, and it was tickling at something in the back of his mind. But they had ended up just busy enough, that he hadn’t had a chance to follow those thoughts. They had stopped not too far from Attre, they could have made it honestly, but Geralt was sure whom they were looking for was in the hills somewhere around here. That he could feel a druid. That it was time.

That was another thing. Time. For the next step in the rules. There were all these odd pieces, that Geralt was sure Jaskier knew, like he was sure Jaskier had known about flowers. In Beauclair he had gone to find a flower shop where they would know the meaning of flowers, but they had been like, roses mean love, lilies mean someone is dead. And the bookshop had been closed. He swore the world was conspiring against him. 

Jaskier didn’t mind a bit of alone, because he had to figure this out, but if he tried to focus the memory slipped away. So he did what he did best and went to work on a song. Bit different one. It was for Geralt, not just about him. It was about them, their friendship. And he was trying to be honest, because that was something that always drove Geralt crazy how the songs had nothing to do with the truth. 

The songs it turned out that Geralt had memorized.

No information in his whole rather colourful life had stunned him as much as Geralt singing one of his songs, and admitting he knew all the ones Jaskier had written in his company by heart. Any wounds left over from that dragon hunt, from thinking he had been wrong for over twenty years about Geralt liking him, were wiped away. Because he had memorized the songs. 

Jaskier was humming putting the pieces of his idea together. “What the fuck do I rhyme with Rivia?” he muttered to himself. Maybe it would work better with Rivanian? And then the thing at the back of his brain grew stronger. It was almost there.

Customs.

Old ones. Before his time, out of practice but read about in history and society. He had actually done fucking brilliantly in that course. It hadn’t been about romance or music, and his memory was for songs not books like Geralt but it was there, almost there.

“Battle blood,” he breathed out, and the memory started seeping in. It was a practice that no one had done in at least 75 years, but Geralt was older than that, old enough to have perhaps seen it or know about it. “Battle blood,” Jaskier said and he did not want to start crying again. He cleared his throat and focused on his song as he put all the pieces together.

It was an important thing for the warriors of Rivia, that you were sworn to your fellow soldier as you would be to a love. It functioned differently, but was just as binding. He could not remember all the details but that is why Geralt was focused on gifts and rules. There had to be a pattern of honour and care established. To show that you considered the other person worthy of being your battle blood.

He melted, because Geralt knew Jaskier was no warrior so was probably trying to adapt those rules to the binding of a witcher and a bard, a thing that certainly hadn’t happened before.

Fuccccccckkkkkkk this was going to make such a good song one day.

There had been gifts, and Geralt had said they were moving to the next step. Shit that was why he needed a druid. Someone with some sort of larger power. Usually a field commander but they weren’t actually at war, and no proper church or clerk office would acknowledge such an old custom. What he read was coming back more and more. It was close to a handfasting ceremony. They clasped arms and the person in authority wrapped them in cloth, not the ribbons of a wedding, and it went over, across, and back - a tighter bind than marriage. He could not remember what the words were supposed to be but that was fine. He’d just repeat what Geralt said.

And since Geralt was instigating he was supposed to give -

Oh damn, this is why Geralt had been worried about the bracelet, because he was swearing to lay down his life for Jaskier, his battle blood, a brother in soul, in heart, in choice, and Jaskier had cocked it up a bit.

Well, he’d recover it with the gift he gave. Which he would get, in the middle of nowhere, in fading light. Shit.

Geralt was handing himself over like this - saying that he wanted to walk the world with Jaskier as shield mates, something insanely fucking sacred in Rivia a long time ago, Jaskier had to make sure the gift matched that. Fuck. He could do it, no problem. He always figured something out. “Uh, Roach, little help? What is a good Battle Blood gift?” The horse just stared at him. “Yes, sorry,” Jaskier shook his head. “I have this well in hand. Well in hand.”

He did not have it in hand, but he would when it was time.

He could a crunch of steps and saw Geralt walking towards him with a druid man; apparently it was time. Oh fuck. Fuckity fuck. He could not cock this up. Because this was Geralt reaching out in a way he never had before. This was a knight swearing fucking eternal fealty. This was Geralt making Jaskier his brother. Jaskier smiled and realized he was still in the clothes he had been in all day. Shit. He tore off his doublet and shirt because it smelled rank, and pawed through his bag. Fuck where was his other shirt. He did not have time for this. Fine doublet over skin for the most important moment in his and Geralt’s friendship, completely fine.

A panicked laugh escaped his lips, before he managed to control himself. He did up the doublet, and you couldn’t tell he didn’t have anything on underneath. He smoothed his hair and tried to calm his pulse, because Geralt was hearing it and might mistake it for something it wasn’t.

It wasn’t fear.

Well, it was a little bit of fear, but not bad fear. Good fear. Not even fear, nerves. Anticipation. He had no idea what.

It seemed between one blink and the next Geralt was in front of him, and bowing low. No he wasn’t bowing. Lord, Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf, was again kneeling. “Jaskier, you have consented to, and accepted each stage until now. I humbly, and hopefully ask that you take the next step with me. Swear yourself to me, as I promise myself to you.”

Jaskier was not going to acknowledge that his hand was shaking. If he promised himself to Geralt, in this promise, it was until they died in battle, it meant he was willing to die to save Geralt.

And he was. “I swear myself to you, as you do promise yourself to me,” Jaskier cleared his throat a bit. Geralt looked happy, so his plan to just repeat words back to him seemed the correct one. Geralt stood and the druid moved over to him.

“This is not exactly my usual thing,” the man pointed out. “Mostly I tend to goats.”

“You’ll do for our purposes,” Geralt said. He went to his pack and pulled out a piece of cloth. Jaskier almost snickered, because it was the cloth that Geralt used to clean his swords. “As I care for the tools of my trade, so I will care for you,” Geralt told him. 

Damn. Jaskier felt every feeling he had ever had coalesce inside of him, and become one thing only. Pure, eternal love. He was going to love Geralt forever, in every way that love could be sorted. Friend, compatriot, battle blood, romantic, and dear god sexual. He wanted that man to fuck him so hard. 

But this wasn’t about what he felt. This was about what Geralt was offering, and it was more than he ever thought he’d have from Geralt. It wasn’t everything, but who ever got that? Jaskier smiled at him. It was more than enough. He moved closer to Geralt. “We clasp wrists, correct?”

Geralt nodded, serious, solemn. “I wish Ciri was hear,” Geralt said softly. “But she’ll be there for when it is official.”

Jaskier couldn’t think of what was needed to be more official than this. But his memories were decades old, so there were some blanks. He reached out and took Geralt’s wrist. Geralt’s hand was so warm against his skin. The druid wrapped the cloth on them, over, across, and back, just like how Jaskier remembered reading. Geralt must have been explaining the almost forgotten ritual to the man on the way to Jaskier.

“I do so swear that my sword, my skill, my very life, are now in service to two things - the Path, and You,” Geralt said. Well those sure as hell couldn’t be the right words. Jaskier remembered all the research and work that Geralt said he and the other witchers had done. They must have spent hours reshaping it to retain what the ritual had meant in Rivia, and what code the witchers had to follow. He had been planning this all winter. It finally sank into Jaskier, that Geralt had sought him out again, with this promise of fealty as his goal.

Because he wanted to wake up next to Jaskier and this was the best way for Geralt to show, that he valued Jaskier, believed in him.

He couldn’t repeat the words back, he had no bloody sword, but he could manage. “I do so swear,” Jaskier had to stop because his voice was trembling, and he never fucked up a performance, thank you. “I do so swear that my lute, my skill, my very life are now in service to two things - making history with music, and you.” Jaskier took a deep breath. He was pretty sure he should wait for Geralt to say whatever came next. To listen and be silent. “I’m sorry I didn’t quite understand at first what was going on with the flowers, and the satchel you kept obsessing over, and it was all so weird after how we had been for years. You were different, everything I sort had hoped for, but didn’t know I was hoping for, and it was all just a muddle, you know?”

“I do,” Geralt said, looking oddly relieved. “This explains some things I was confused about. I should have been clearer in my intent. Ciri said to use my words. But that is your gift, not mine.”

In an instant, Jaskier knew what to give Geralt after this was done. “But we are here now, and I understand. Just a touch…old fashioned, but you are rather old.” Jaskier looked at their bound hands. “What do we do now? I’m not actually sure.”

Geralt’s free hand was warm on his neck, and he pressed their foreheads together. “Now we make a private promise in our hearts to each other.”

“That sounds nice,” Jaskier closed his eyes. He promised to be happy with everything that Geralt had given him. To be a good companion, to be whatever this promise meant. He breathed out and so did Geralt and Geralt’s breath was warm against his lips. The druid chanted a little, some language Jaskier didn’t quite recognize and then sort of grunted and just walked off. “Rude,” Jaskier muttered, and realized they were still pressed forehead to forehead. Geralt didn’t seem to want to let go.

“Jaskier.”

“Yes?”

“Just that. Jaskier,” Geralt’s eyes were closed and he looked almost reverent. Jaskier had never seen him look more beautiful. “Please tell me I don’t have to be respectful anymore. That this is enough. Even if we don’t fuck tonight, tell me I can at least kiss you.”

“Huh?” Jaskier blinked. He scanned his memories. “I thought I had to give you my gift?”

Geralt’s groan was so gravelly that it shook Jaskier. “Fine, yes. Great. Gift.” Geralt pulled away and sat.

Jaskier was rattled a bit. Because Geralt just suggested fucking. That he wanted to fuck Jaskier. Jaskier of course wanted to fuck Geralt, because who wouldn’t, and in general Jaskier wanted to fuck a lot of people. He had always found him gorgeous and would have thrown down and now…field comfort. Battle blood were allowed to offer each other field comfort. And they had not stopped at a whorehouse since Geralt had found him, because Geralt was so focused on proving to Jaskier how serious he was about the change in their friendship. Fuck poor bastard must be so pent up. He wasn’t quite sure why Jaskier hadn’t been allowed to partake but he was sure there was some weird purity of spirit component to a bond like this. He really wanted to throw down.

But they also hadn’t been near a water source in a few days and their balls would be too rank for fun. “We can make out after I give you your gift,” Jaskier blurted out and Geralt perked up like a puppy that heard the word ‘treat’. “But uhhh, more has to wait because well -”

“Because it isn’t official yet and you are following the rules, and I’m following the rules because it is making you happy,” Geralt huffed a bit. “I am not waiting until winter at Kaer Morhen to make it official, my dick will have atrophied. We could be to Yennefer and Ciri in a month. My brothers could portal to there, and we could make it official. Is that acceptable?”

It hadn’t been what Jaskier had been going to say, but also a month before they fucked as shield compatriots as battle blood, wasn’t a bad idea. It would give him time to guard his heart a bit. Because otherwise he might shout about loving Geralt at precisely the wrong moment. “That sounds more than acceptable.”

“But we can now kiss…maybe touch a bit?”

“Tonight we can get drunk on kisses,” Jaskier said and bit his lip. That might have been a bit too romantic. “Anyways, I owe you a gift.”

“You do,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier sat down. “It isn’t as ready as I hoped, but I think it should work.” He picked up the lute. “I suppose it feels cheap to give you a song,” he cursed a bit. Fuck, maybe he could put sex back on the table as an option.

“No, no that sounds perfect. Which fight is it about? The griffin?”

“Not about a fight,” Jaskier said. “It’s called, At Your Side.” He began to strum and then slowly sang of their friendship, of two people not at all alike except for a desire for something from the world. Unnamed, misunderstood, but finding the answers in each other’s company. It wasn’t a huge ballad, and it had several of the near rhymes that Geralt always made fun of, but Jaskier believed in this song more than any other he had written with Geralt in mind. Because it was them. It was as close to truth as he would dare get to, in verse.

When it was done, he looked at Geralt, who was rather blank faced. “Put the lute down, Jaskier,” Geralt ordered.

Shit, he was going to take back the promise of them being warriors at arms. Jaskier put the lute carefully down, and went when Geralt crooked his finger. Jaskier then found himself pulled down onto Geralt lap, and Geralt holding him tightly. He put his arms around Geralt. And felt that odd wetness against his neck again. 

His brain finally processed that it was kisses. Last time he had been so overwhelmed by Geralt singing that he had assumed it had been from his own tears. But Geralt was kissing his neck. He moved back a little bit. “How’s my singing, Geralt?”

Geralt was silent, but Jaskier realized it was because Geralt was overwhelmed not because he didn’t like it. “We talked about making out?” Jaskier said, and fuck Geralt was kissing him hard. Geralt of Rivia’s tongue was in his mouth, and the white fucking wolf’s hands were on his ass. He really should have tried field comfort before, because this was brilliant. They kissed and kissed and their bodies pressed against each other.

He came in his trousers like he hadn’t since he was 15. The way Geralt groaned and went rigid below him he guessed it was a similar experience. “That was…well,” Jaskier pressed his forehead to Geralt’s. “You know when I suggested we wait I just meant -”

“I know, it is like you said,” Geralt sounded so earnest. “You have never been truly respected before and I want to give you that. I can wait for more than this until after it is official when we get to Yennefer. But we can do more of this right?”

Wait…nooooo. “Umm, no Geralt I meant -” But again Geralt was cutting him off with that earnestness.

“I should have realized so much sooner that this is what I wanted with you. This promise. I am sorry it took me so long. But I did it all correctly, right?”

How the fuck was Jaskier to know, he barely remembered this crazy old custom that was of Geralt’s people. But this was all highly emotional stuff, and that was entirely new for Geralt. “It was all perfect,” Jaskier kissed him gently. “But really about this respect thing,” he began.

“I know, I promise I do, and I will be mostly respectful for the next month,” Geralt swore. “And then when we are official, we will find a room far away from everyone else and I will show you just how well I can respect you and fuck you until you see stars all at the same time.”

Geralt looked so pleased with himself about treating Jaskier finally well.

And Jaskier could not take that away from him. “A month until we fuck. Yippee.” It was all his fault. He should have sucked it up and dealt with balls that smelled like Roach. He could cry. But Geralt pulled him close and kissed the top of his head.

“Thank you, Jaskier,” Geralt said softly and Jaskier melted.

“Thank you, Geralt,” Jaskier replied. He could cope. Maybe. 

Geralt’s hand cupped his ass to adjust how Jaskier was sitting on him.

Nope, Jaskier was going to die.


	9. Chapter 9

Geralt was a touch annoyed that his mind kept singing. It wasn’t an actual song, because then you could reach the end and move on. No no, his brain was just singing a litany of _handfasted, handfasted, jaskier my lark, we’re handfasted_. That was it - over and over. Jaskier had caught him smiling as they traveled, and kept teasing him about it.

And it was just making him smile more.

What was more, he didn’t even care.

Because he and Jaskier were handfasted, it was as good as married depending on whom you asked. Jaskier was his, forever and apparently ever, since the idiot had licked a few potions and extended his life instead of dying. He was happy that he would have more time with Jaskier, but also the man was an idiot. He wondered if he was still allowed to call Jaskier an idiot now that they were _handfasted, handfasted, jaskier my lark, we’re handfasted_. 

“Jaskier?”

“Mmhmm?” Jaskier was clearly also lost in thoughts.

“Am I still allowed to think you are an idiot with no survival skills, sense, or reason?” It was an important question. Was being in love supposed to blind him to all of Jaskier’s faults? Because that would be a lot of blinding. And a lot of those faults were things he loved most about the man.

“Would you actually be able to stop thinking that about me? You’d soon as be able to stop the rain,” Jaskier joked. “If you stopped thinking I was an idiot, I’d have to stop thinking you were the most dour man on the continent,” Jaskier replied with a laugh and then paused. “Although you have smiled three times today. Maybe I do have to reassess.”

“I’m happy.” Geralt rolled his eyes as Jaskier stopped, pressed a hand to his head, and after checking to make sure he wouldn’t land in any shit, collapsed dramatically upon the road they were traveling. “It is not that odd an occurrence,” Geralt muttered and kept Roach moving. Jaskier hopped up and soon was next to him. “Is it so weird that I am happy now that you are mine?”

“No, I suppose not,” Jaskier agreed. “And you can still think I am an idiot. I often am.”

“Less often than you pretend. You have a keen mind behind all the buffoonery.”

“You’ll make a man blush,” Jaskier said, and he licked his lips.

Geralt frowned, he had been doing that a lot since they were handfasted. It was really distracting see that tongue peek out a bit. But the poor man seemed to be suffering a bit of dry lips. Next town they stopped at, Geralt would go to a healer and see about a balm for Jaskier. To take care of him, spoil him. Geralt was happy at that prospect, solving a minor problem of Jaskier’s like that.

Geralt looked around. He paused. 

“Something?” Jaskier asked.

“I remember this place,” Geralt said. There was a rock formation near the road that looked…well it looked like a dick. And he remembered that, from decades ago, before even Jaskier. “Wait, I had a fourway with some dryads and a vampire near here.”

Oh he shouldn’t have told his husband that. Geralt looked over and Jaskier was staring at him, an incredibly offended look on his face. “I’m sorry I shouldn’t have -”

“YOU HAD A FUCK LIKE THAT AND NEVER TOLD ME EVERY SINGLE DETAIL? HOW FUCKING DARE YOU KEEP THAT FROM ME GERALT OF RIVIA?” Jaskier hit his thigh. “Where exactly? You take me there right now and tell me the whole story, or I am never forgiving you.”

Geralt snorted a bit, and remembered exactly who his bard was. “Not every detail,” he demurred.

“Every single detail,” Jaskier snarled.

Geralt turned Roach in past the dick rocks and into the woods. He soon could smell the water, and hear it. “There,” he said softly and the woods opened to a small clearing. It was as lovely as he remembered. A secret lake, flowers everywhere.

“Oh, this is nice. We can camp here, right?”

“We can,” Geralt assured him, and dismounted Roach. “You can even tell where we all fucked if you use your eyes, even though it was about 50 years ago.” That should occupy Jaskier enough that he could set up camp. Because Jaskier always put a fire circle in the wrong spot, not understanding how winds moved through woods even after all these years. 

He set up and laughed loud enough to startle the birds in the trees, when Jaskier shouted, “this weird clover and thistle patch by the water edge! I swear I can see the shape of your ass in it.”

Geralt looked over. “Yes, that is where it happened.” Everything looked good for the camp, and the water was tempting; it had been a week since they had bathed. Geralt stripped down and ran into the water, which in the summer sun was tepid. He groaned in pleasure. “Fuck, this feels good.” He should have grabbed soap from the packs, but he had just cared about the water. “Jaskier, grab us some soap and come in.” 

“Uh-huh,” Jaskier said and Geralt looked over at him. He looked dazed.

“Problem?”

“Nope,” Jaskier said and went to their bags. He was stripping down slowly. Really slowly. Usually Jaskier ran for water when they came across it. Geralt wondered if it was respectable to look. But Jaskier hadn’t said he should turn away. So he watched. Because they were handfasted and he could openly watch, instead of side glances over the years. Even when he had found Jaskier annoying, frustrating, exhausting, he had known the bard was attractive. Jaskier had bent over at the waist to pull off his boots and Geralt decided under the water was safer than staring at that perfect ass. Because his thoughts were swiftly becoming not respectable in the least. He could stay under a long time, and only came up when the water was displaced with Jaskier being in it. “You are right, this feels amazing,” Jaskier said as he threw soap to Geralt.

Geralt watched him do a dive under, and sighed at the glimpse of ass and thigh. He wanted to bite Jaskier so badly. He lathered the soap and scrubbed everywhere, except his hair, rather hoping he could get Jaskier to do it, to feel Jaskier’s hands on him. “Can you wash my hair?” he asked. “I’ll tell you the story you want to hear.” He hadn’t known Jaskier could swim quite that quickly. Geralt dislikes telling stories, but he tells this one to Jaskier, because it is amusing enough. Jaskier’s hands are massaging his scalp, cupping water to pour over his hair.

Geralt finishes the tale and turns to Jaskier. “Is that enough detail?”

“That was hardly any detail,” Jaskier muttered. “You have the most epic orgy ever and tell me it was ‘nice’. How is that detail?”

“Because kissing you, is better, more exciting that the seven orgasms I had that night.” Geralt thought that sounded quite romantic, gallant even, only Jaskier sort of sank under the water. Geralt pushed down, a bit worried about Jaskier, and under the water was pulled close, air bubbles escaping and water flooding into his mouth as Jaskier kissed him. He pulled them up, because Jaskier’s lungs had to be aching. “What was that?”

“That was for saying something insanely stupid, because I am a great kisser, but it doesn’t beat vampire dryad seven orgasm orgy,” Jaskier said. “Also…is seven orgasms in a night a common thing for witchers? Or enhanced due to said orgy?”

Geralt laughed. He pulled Jaskier close. “Definitely enhanced. Four is really the standard limit for a night.” He paused and thought about it. “Wait, what is the human number?” He worried a bit, because he didn’t want to upset Jaskier. “I mean, after everything is official and we start to fuck, I’m not expecting -”

Why was Jaskier looking so amused? “Geralt, my decades of fucking anything that smiled vaguely in my direction have been preparing me for this. All that dedicated work to sex, will pay off in keeping up with you.”

It was Geralt’s turn to sink under the water at the thought of all that, only it made it worse because he was look at Jaskier’s cock and he wanted nothing more than to wrap his lips around it and suck, bring Jaskier off.

Could blow jobs be respectable? He pressed up and looked at Jaskier who was smiling, and wet, and all pretty. Who looked content with the world. A man he had promised to show that Geralt understood his value. Geralt hugged him, and kissed his temple. He was enjoying the feel of their naked bodies against each other a little too much, but still. Respectable. “Once we are official, I am going to test everything you have learned with your decades of catting around,” Geralt said and pulled away to swim hard across the lake, burning some of the energy as best he could.

“Who the fuck says catting around?” Jaskier shouted after him. “That phrase is old as hell.”

“I’m old as hell,” Geralt reminded him and kept swimming.

“I am aware, what with all your ancient customs and propriety.” Geralt dove under water only half catching a mutter of battle blood which was a weird phrase that he had no context for, but to be fair he had no context for half of what Jaskier said. Probably was thinking of a song or something. They swam about and splashed, and there were perhaps a few more kisses and presses of body before they left the water. They dried off, and Geralt found them a few squirrels to eat, along with some berries. Jaskier started singing, and it was nice. They had also both left shirts off when they dressed, and he was enjoying the view of Jaskier’s arms. 

His bard had really amazing arms, and the muscles shifted and flexed more than he expected they did for playing lute. He found himself watching that shift and play, not even hearing the music. When he wasn’t singing, Jaskier’s tongue was regularly licking his lips. He definitely had to find a soothing balm for his bard for that. “The next town I reach, we’ll send a raven to Yennefer, word to the other witchers to meet us there, before headed back to the keep for winter. Will a family party make it official enough, or do you need more prayer and pronouncement for you to count it as official? For me what we did was enough.”

“If you say it was enough for you, it was enough for me,” Jaskier agreed. “And a party sounds fun. I cannot quite picture witchers partying.”

“There is a lot of drinking and arm wrestling,” Geralt said. “I’ll even let Yennefer dress me up for it.”

Jaskier snorted a bit. “Think she’d rather undress you.”

“No she saves that for Triss.”

“Wait, you had been serious about that?” Jaskier was blinking at him. 

“Yes apparently almost dying together at Sodden Hill created a bond,” Geralt said. “A deep and true bond.” He shrugged. “She seems less -”

“Bat shit insane?”

“Yes, that. Being a mother also helps.” Geralt looked at Jaskier. “That is something we haven’t quite talked about. Parenting Ciri.”

“You are her father,” Jaskier said. “I understand that.”

“But you understand I want you to be involved in her life, a lot? And she is looking forward to that as well.” 

“She is?” Jaskier seemed surprised.

“Something about thank Melitele, someone who understands fun? And humour? She likes music and poems. Jaskier, I had to read poems last winter and talk about what they meant. Because I love her, but please you have to take over that aspect of it all,” Geralt had no problem begging. “I will pay you in whatever you desire.”

“Whatever I desire hmm?” Jaskier was leaning back, and he put the lute down. His hand was resting low on his stomach, the bard completely relaxed and not knowing at all what he was doing to Geralt. 

“Whatever,” Geralt said earnestly. “I will sit through bard competitions. I will wear better clothes, buy you -”

“Kisses,” Jaskier interrupted. “You will pay me for every lesson I give her with kisses. Ones in interesting places.”

“What are interesting places?” Geralt asked. Jaskier stretched and his pants slipped a little low since they weren’t tied very well. He saw the hair trailing down from Jaskier’s belly button to below that loose waistband. “I am sure you have many interesting places.”

“I do, Geralt,” Jaskier said. “Care to start pre-paying me?”

“That doesn’t seem like the best way to create a transaction,” Geralt frowned for a moment and watched as Jaskier flopped on his palette. Those pants slid even lower and he could almost see very interesting places. Fuck. “Excuse me for a moment,” Geralt said and hurried into the trees and had a furious wank because Jaskier’s innocent gestures were killing him. He returned to camp and Jaskier was curled up on Geralt’s palette. “Jaskier?”

“Cuddles are respectable remember?” 

Geralt nodded. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier, and kissed his head, because that was respectable as well. He breathed in and was a bit confused because Jaskier smelled like… “Did you also jerk off?”

“If you had stayed, you would have know, maybe even seen,” Jaskier grumbled.

“There is no fucking way, watching you jerk off is respectable,” Geralt was shocked and then thought about it. “Is there?” Please let it be respectable, fuck he wanted to watch that.

“No I suppose it isn’t,” Jaskier sighed. He snuggled in close and he ass was pressing against Geralt and Geralt could smell the spent arousal on Jaskier. 

“I’ll be back,” Geralt muttered and again went to the woods to wank. They had to move at a much quicker pace to Yennefer and the family party that would make it all official, before he died.


	10. Chapter 10

“I’m sorry?” Jaskier stared at the very tiny pot that Geralt was holding out. And looking insanely proud of himself over. Like super proud and pleased. “What is it?”

“A balm for your lips. Made with beeswax, and a few other things,” Geralt explained again. “I found a healer and asked if she knew the old recipe for protective balms. New ones are all about the scents. But your lips are clearly dry, and the winter season will make it worse. This will keep your mouth safe.”

“My lips are dry?” Jaskier licked them. He didn’t feel any cracks or dryness. He opened the pot and it did smell nice. Honey and nut, nothing too strong though. He poked a finger in. Put it on his lips. “Oh, that feels nice.” He didn’t need it, but it did feel quite lovely. “My thanks, Geralt.”

“You’ve been licking your lips a lot, and I figured that they must be dry, knew the minute we hit a decent village, I wanted to buy you a balm to help soothe the pain. That spoiling I mentioned.”

The lummox looked so fucking pleased with himself. “I am sure it will come in very handy,” Jaskier agreed. “Shall we check the local notice board?” Geralt moved ahead and Jaskier followed. He saw a horse trough and was debating drowning himself in it. He had not been licking his lips because they were dry, he had been using one of the simple and classic moves that was designed to get a man to kiss you. Draw attention to your lips, get the person obsessed with wanting to lick them himself.

But apparently it made Geralt think of balms. Jaskier pressed his lips together and was annoyed at how good the balm actually felt. And now if he kept up the lick lipping, Geralt would worry the balm hadn’t worked. And he had been so fucking pleased when he held out that tiny jar. So fine, no more lip licking. He would have to rely on some of his other classic moves.

Which were also getting him nowhere.

He honestly wasn’t sure, if he was losing his touch, if Geralt wasn’t noticing, if he was and didn’t care, if he was, and cared deeply but was so obsessed with this whole respectability thing. But what the fuck was the point of having an eternal warrior bond with someone, if you didn’t take the opportunity to bang it out a few times. What was going to make it more official? And the road they were traveling would not take them to any city big enough for Jaskier to do research. He was going to die, knowing in theory he could have Geralt now, but also couldn’t. 

He was started to develop an eye twitch over the words respectful and respectable. Maybe he should loosen his shirt a bit more. He stared down at the chest hair he could easily see since not like he had the doublet done up, or his shirt laced. He’d really have to go shirtless. Well, he’d think of something. Jaskier caught up with Geralt and looked at the notice board. “Oh, well that is a lot of nothing, unless you want to find out exactly who those knickers nailed there belong to.” 

“I do not,” Geralt said.

“Good call, that is the sort of job that would absolutely get you killed.” Jaskier shrugged. “Well, shall we see if I can ply my trade?”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, and Jaskier could tell that it was the hmm of agreement. They wandered through the village and Jaskier played a bit, hummed, to see if there was a market for his skills, what sort of feel this village had. But no one was really responding and giving them a wide berth. “We should keep moving,” Geralt said softly.

“Nonsense, I want a bed, and in the end, coin speaks.”

But it didn’t speak in this town as the tavern wouldn’t serve them, and the inn said they were full up. Which was clearly a lie. Jaskier was ready to argue, because he was frustrated with the universe right now and if he wasn’t going to fuck, a decent fight would at least burn some energy. Geralt though pulled him out of the inn. “Geralt, I really would prefer to explain to them -”

“Jaskier look at this place, it is a tinder box,” Geralt said. 

Jaskier looked around and they were being watched. And the crowd was restless. He subsided. Generally these days they came across individuals that distrusted witchers, but it had been a long time since it was a whole damn village. “More camping it is,” Jaskier agreed. 

They were moving, not quickly but with surety down the main road. Clouds were rolling it and Jaskier felt his shoulders slump. It was going to be a shit night camping. 

“Oi, there, bard!” a woman called.

Jaskier turned to the sound, it was a bit across the square. He looked to Geralt who just shrugged. They headed over and Jaskier bowed to the woman. “Hello, how may I help you?”

“Weather is turning. Exchange room and board for the night for your music?”

“I do not think many in this town are looking for my particular skills,” Jaskier said delicately.

“My people are,” she said. “Miette got all wet when she recognized you from the balcony. So what say you?”

It was then that Jaskier realized what sort of establishment was requesting his songs tonight. “Ah, yes. Well,” he began. “You know that room and board is for both of us, yes?”

“Of course, everyone knows that Jaskier the bard comes along with a witcher.” She just shrugged. “I don’t care, so long as he don’t tear up my place none.”

“I wouldn’t,” Geralt promised. “I am fine with the arrangement.”

Thunder crackled in the clouds and Jaskier nodded. “A fair agreement, Madam.”

They went into the brothel and it was really like any they had stopped at over the years. But generally they were there to sample the wears, and they were not, they were there to work. Well he was, Geralt could do what he wanted. They had an agreement though didn’t they. There was an agreement, and there was battle blood and Jaskier’s stomach felt unpleasant. But he could be subtle.

“Madam,” Jaskier said with a smile. “Our rooms are not occupied are they?” That was subtle.

“Only one room,” she said. “I’m generous enough, to throw in a bath, but it is a room you two can share, our beds are big enough you won’t be on top of each other. Unless that is what you want.” She gave them a saucy wink. “Our preferred client not, so none of that rabble out there will be in here bothering you none. Mostly performing for my staff. They’ve been working hard, deserve a treat. You want to buy, it will cost.”

“No ma’am, I am not interested in companionship tonight.”

“Or any night,” Geralt added swiftly and Jaskier’s stomach felt better. They walked into the main room, and Geralt nodded. “I’ll be over there,” he said spying a dark corner by the bar. A topless woman was pouring ale. Jaskier did not laugh at how very pointedly Geralt was not looking at the very nice tits. He kept not laughing when Geralt put the hood of his cloak up to act as sort of blinkers. 

Jaskier looked around the space. There were a few tables, even a bit of a raised dais at the front of the room. It was a decent space. “Yes, I think I can entertain your staff and preferred customers well. How long to perform to cover, room, board, and a very hot bath?”

“A few hours?” she asked and Jaskier agreed easily.

She told him to go sit with his witcher, that they could enjoy a meal before Jaskier had to get to work. Jaskier jumped when she gave his ass a hard slap as he went by. He waved Geralt off when he stood ready to defend Jaskier, “Geralt, down boy, it was just in good fun.” He sat at the bar and winked at the woman. “An ale?” he asked.

“At least you can look at me, poor witcher there is a bit…shy?”

“It wouldn’t be respectful,” Geralt muttered.

“Witchers are gentlemen, who knew?” she teased and poured them out some ale. “Stew and bread will be out soon. You’ll sing Her Sweet Kiss for me? I love that one.”

“Of course, good woman, it will be my pleasure,” Jaskier reassured her. He smiled at the wink she gave in return, and smiled more at the grumble Geralt gave. “Geralt, they are just breasts. I’m not going to say they don’t appeal, because well they are really lovely ones. And honestly if they are right there, I will look.” Especially with how wound up he was currently. “But I am not going to touch, because we aren’t doing that anymore, are we?” He saw Geralt’s shoulders relax a bit and knew he had been worried too. “We promised.”

“The most important promise of all,” Geralt said and lowered his cloak’s hood. He had a soft smile on his face, and he had to stop doing that, because he was pretty sure you weren’t supposed to fall so completely in love with someone that you had a warrior bond with. “It is actually a good whorehouse for a town like this.”

“It is,” Jaskier agreed. The food was brought out and they ate, and stayed with each other. A few people came into the brothel, and more of the workers came down. The madam gave a nod to Jaskier and Jaskier smiled. “Time to earn us a bed,” he said. He unpacked his lute and moved to that dais. He talked for a moment introducing himself, thanking them for their hospitality. Then he just went for it. Because this was the only welcome they had had in this town, and they were getting his best for that. He moved and danced, sang with his whole heart. Any request that was shouted his way he answered, and he winked and nudged when he started to move around the room. His ass was pinched and he absolutely did a little shimmy and threw his doublet off to the cheers of the crowd. He tossed it to Geralt who rolled his eyes a bit, but was also smiling at him, enjoying the show. 

Jaskier figured well, you know what? In for a penny and all that. He let his hips roll, and the songs grew incredibly bawdy and at one point one of the women stopped him to put red lip paint on him while he was at a part that was just strumming. He grinned over at Geralt and for a moment forgot the words to a song he had written, because there was something dark and hungry in Geralt’s gaze. 

He cleared his throat and went back to work. He sang until his voice started to get thin. “Let’s thank the bard,” the madam called out at the end of a song, and Jaskier was grateful to her. He was exhausted but also exhilarated because he hadn’t had a show like this in quite a long time. One that was raw and fun and so damn sexy. The barmaid poured him an ale, Jaskier was so thirsty he drank it in a few gulps. She gave a saucy wink and poured him another. This one he took a few sips and paused. “My eternal thanks,” he said to her.

“Best show we’ve ever had,” she replied. “Were you doing it just for us?”

“Well, a good bard, cares about his whole audience,” Jaskier replied, and glanced at Geralt who was still staring at him. Jaskier wasn’t sure he ever had stopped. “Geralt?” It wasn’t quite a stare that he understood, but it called to something in him. “Did you not like the show?”

Geralt’s was wrinkling Jaskier’s doublet with how tight he seemed to be holding it and Jaskier thought he should maybe complain, but that stare was making it difficult to be witty. That stare was making it difficult to think. Geralt’s hand was reaching out and then his thumb was pressed against Jaskier’s bottom lip. “Do you not like the paint?” He had no idea what it looked like, maybe he looked foolish. Foppish, something that Geralt didn’t like. That thumb pressed his lip down a bit and Jaskier couldn’t help it, he bit at Geralt’s thumb.

Geralt growled and pressed his thumb in more the weight holding Jaskier’s tongue down, and fuck, Jaskier moaned. He closed his lips around Geralt’s thumb and began to suck a bit. They never stopped looking at each other. Moments, centuries, eons passed and they didn’t stop looking at each other. 

“Ma’am, we have another floor show,” the barmaid said.

“No we don’t, they’ve done their job and will enjoy their room now, while we get to work. Bath water already brought up, nice and steaming. Thank you bard, made more than one man drop a bit more coin in his eagerness.”

“Then you should pay Jaskier,” Geralt was still fucking staring at him.

“Breakfast and some food for the road,” she replied.

“Sounds fine. Our room?” Jaskier asked before Geralt could protest. The madam gestured and they followed her upstairs to the third room on the left.

“Preferred night tends to get a little loud,” she warned them. “But maybe you’ll be a little loud yourselves.” She laughed and left them be. They went into the room, and it wasn’t too bad. Didn’t smell overly like sex, and the bath was a good size.

“Who first?” Jaskier asked.

“You,” Geralt said.

“I never get first bath,” Jaskier was a touch surprised. Usually they were so focused on getting the viscera off Geralt that they bathed him first and then in a welcoming place called for a second bath, or Jaskier wiped off with a pitcher of water.

“You worked, I didn’t,” Geralt said.

Jaskier went very still as Geralt put their bags down, and took the lute away. Geralt was then undressing him, and for a moment Jaskier thought all his bump and grind had paid off. He couldn’t quite smell lust the way Geralt could, but there was that look in his eyes and Jaskier could read that well enough. But the clothes were being stripped off him gently.

Like how Jaskier took care of Geralt after a rough job. 

It was very cruel of Geralt to make Jaskier fall more and more in love with him. Jaskier let himself be guided to the bath, Geralt not even looking at his body, which was very…respectful. Jaskier was going to see about getting Yennefer to erase that word from humanity’s vocabulary. But the water felt so good. He sighed. “I am pleased with the show tonight,” Jaskier said and closed his eyes. They flew open again, when Geralt began massaging his fingers.

“You were enthusiastic,” Geralt agreed.

Jaskier closed his eyes and his knuckles popped under Geralt’s ministrations and it hurt and then felt like heaven. “You may do that for the next five hours.”

“I’m going to do it forever,” Geralt replied. His hands were moving up, soothing arms and shoulders. Jaskier sighed when they massaged his neck. “Good?”

“Yes,” Jaskier felt very relaxed. “You are very good at this.”

“Just doing what you’ve done for me.”

“I know, but rather new.”

“I’m sorry, that I didn’t understand earlier,” Geralt whispered. “But we’re here now.”

“Mhhmmm,” Jaskier was lightly dozing at this point and he was almost purring when Geralt washed his hair. He was eventually nudged out of the bath and dried off. He focused again when he felt Geralt’s thumb on his lips again. “Geralt?”

“Wouldn’t want your lips to get dry,” Geralt said and was carefully putting that balm on. “Do you think -” he cleared his throat. “Nothing.”

“Yes, dear Melitele, yes,” Jaskier said. Thank fuck, the tension finally broke and they were going to fuck. “All the yes.”

“I’ll see about asking the woman now, in the morning she might not be awake,” Geralt said and hurried out of the room.

Jaskier was standing there wearing nothing but a drying cloth, a smile and a half hard on. “ASK WHAT WOMAN WHAT?” he shouted after Geralt. He heard the first moans coming through the one wall, and the sound of a paddle hitting flesh and cries of being a naughty boy.

He was in hell, suffering for all his years of debauchery. It was the only explanation. He debated dropping to his knees, asking for some god to forgiven him, that he repented all his sins - but he really didn’t. So he might as well enjoy hell. He threw the cloth off and lay down on the bed. Hand low on his stomach, just listening to the noise from the other room. It was getting quite interesting.

“Good news, she said she loved your performance enough, she gave me the pot for free, and I’ll come back later,” Geralt said, clearly taking him in.

“Geralt, you’ll injure their business if you are just walking about, looking all gorgeous and brooding. No man in this village will compare, and they’ll get depressed and not drop their coin.”

“You mock?”

Jaskier looked at him. “I speak the truth, you are gorgeous, my dear friend.” He sat up and covered his cock with a sheet. “What is that in your hand?” It was another small pot like his lip balm.

“You agreed.”

“Of course I did, but I am sure this room had -” Jaskier cut himself off, because that pot would not hold enough oil for fucking. And the room surely had plenty. “Geralt, what did you fetch?”

“It is what she put on you,” Geralt said. He opened the pot, and there was the red lip paint. “You agreed?” he sounded hesitant. “I don’t - you don’t have to wear it all the time. That is impractical. But for performing, for…us? It suits you.”

Jaskier flushed a bit. “You liked it?”

Geralt sat on the bed, and brushed his thumb yet again over Jaskier’s lip. “I did.” His thumb pressed into Jaskier’s mouth and he was clearly waiting, hopeful. Jaskier nipped and Geralt growled. “Do you like wearing it?”

“I used to. Hadn’t in a long time, and don’t exactly know how this looked on me,” Jaskier pointed out. He went very still when Geralt’s finger dipped into the pot. And oh god he was carefully tracing that finger over Jaskier’s mouth. A slow swipe over the bottom lip, then following the curve of the upper one. Geralt pulled his finger away and there was a trace of the paint left and he clearly couldn’t figure out what to wipe it on. Jaskier knew it was for sure hell they were in when Geralt wiped it on his own lips and put the pot on the night stand.

“Go look in the mirror,” Geralt suggested. He cast igni to warm the bath water, stripping down as he went over and then settled in. 

Jaskier went to the mirror, and the red lip did look rather fantastic. The mirror jostled as the other room really got down to business. Jaskier laughed a bit and braced his arms against the table. “I am in hell.”

“Why?”

“No, reason. You really like how the paint looks?”

“Very much,” Geralt said. Jaskier looked at him in the mirror and Geralt’s gaze was hungry. Moans started to ring out from the room on the other side of them. “Well, I would have thought that they’d have better sound proofing but I suppose it must help other people get off?”

“She did mention it would get loud,” Jaskier replied. They could now hear a whip in the next room.

“Mama I am sorry I was a bad boy, punish me, punish me!” a man shouted and there was the crack of a whip.

“We are not doing that right?” Geralt asked. “When we are official, we are not doing that?”

“Which? The whip or me calling you Mama?” Jaskier asked a little hysterically. He was naked and Geralt was right there, and all the noises, and Geralt putting fucking lip paint on him had him hard.

“Either, I couldn’t hurt you. I’ve hurt you enough,” Geralt said and Jaskier felt so very much. He walked over, not caring if Geralt looked, saw him hard. He knelt in front of the tub, and put his arms on the rim, rested his chin on it. A sight familiar to them both.

“You have hurt me, but I am sure I hurt you as well, that is what happens when you travel with someone as long as we have. I don’t care for pain in fucking, Geralt.” They both listened to all the moans and wails that seemed to echo around them. “We should have just camped out in the rain, would have gotten more sleep than we will tonight.”

“Then we wouldn’t have known how fucking sexy you are in paint. A fair trade off.”

“Imagine how good the red lips will look around your cock,” Jaskier teased. He really hoped that Geralt would take the hint. He licked his lips. Geralt had to understand that at this point, Jaskier thoroughly believed blow jobs were a respectful embrace. “Would you like that?” He guessed from the fire in Geralt’s eyes he did.

“I will. God once we are official, we aren’t leaving the bedroom for a week,” Geralt growled.

Jaskier hung his head and went back to the bed. “Geralt, I’m going to wank now, because I am dying.”

“I should leave?” Geralt asked. “It wouldn’t be -”

“If you say respectable right now, I will goddamn slit your throat in that tub,” Jaskier warned. He wrapped his hand around his cock. “Close your eyes, that should be respectable enough.” He heard water splashing and the sound of Geralt drying off. The fucker was going to leave. It was absolutely hell. But then the bed dipped and Geralt’s weight was next to him.

And Geralt was holding his hand. “My eyes are closed,” he said. 

Jaskier wasn’t sure what the hell was going on. “Geralt?” 

“You should close yours too. And we don’t mention this if anyone asks, teases, about us following the rules. My brothers are nosy idiots, and Yen will encourage them. But well, we are bound after all.”

Jaskier closed his and was lost. “What are we doing?” he whispered, scared to break whatever mood this was. They were now so quiet, the noise around them so very loud.

“I really like that red on your mouth,” Geralt said. 

And Jaskier damn well knew the sound of a hand on a cock. Geralt was stroking himself on the bed, next to Jaskier while they were holding hands. “This is respectable?”

“If it isn’t we have to stop,” Geralt replied.

“It is respectable,” Jaskier said faster than he had said anything else and began to stroke himself off as well. They were quiet and Geralt’s was squeezing his hand so hard. Geralt was the first to tip over and Jaskier wasn’t far behind. He opened one eye and fuck respectability looked at Geralt’s spent cock. He wanted to lick it so badly. Instead he stood up and cleaned himself off and brought a cloth to Geralt, who did the same. “I need you to hold me,” Jaskier told him.

Geralt’s arms wrapped around him. They were quiet and the sound of a strange man coming echoed from the room next to them. Jaskier couldn’t stop laughing and soon Geralt joined in.

“I think, if Ciri asks about our journey, we will say we spent the trip camping the whole way,” Geralt managed to say in between giggles. He kissed Jaskier’s nape, and Jaskier melted into the bed. 

“Yes, agreed,” he said quickly. “Thank you for all the lip balms and paints, Geralt. I love them.”

“I mentioned spoiling you.”

“You did. What are friends for after all? If not for spoiling?” Jaskier said. 

“Friends, heh,” Geralt snorted in laughter. “Love that you still think of us as that first even with the changes.”

He could hear the sincerity in Geralt’s voice, he wasn’t mocking.

“What are we but friends first?” Jaskier asked, because their battle bond thing was about friendship after all.

“How long will it take you to put the new of us first?” Geralt asked, clearly curious.

“I suppose once it is official?” Jaskier thought that was a good response, because Geralt was hung up on that officialness so much.

“Fair. I won’t call you what I want to until then,” Geralt promised.

“Lovely,” Jaskier agreed, no clue what Geralt wanted to call him. The moans started up again from the other room. “This is hell,” he groaned and put a pillow over his head.

“You make me dream of wonderful things,” Geralt whispered and soon was snoring a bit.

Maybe this shitty brothel was actually heaven.


	11. Chapter 11

They had made good time, they were so close to Yennefer’s keep. They were actually ahead of schedule, which mean sooner to being official. And then they traveled through a village that was having a fucking griffin problem. Because of course they did. 

He went to the local mage and gathered some ingredients and also used them to send word to everyone what day he expected to see them, and to perhaps begin preparations for a party. He had to admit he was looking forward to that. They would be so damn impressed with how smoothly the courting had gone, and in front of his daughter - soon their daughter - they would make their promises and it would be official.

And the second Ciri was asleep, he and Jaskier would retire to whatever room Yennefer gave them, and they would fuck until they passed out. 

Last night there had been grinding before they broke apart. Geralt had resumed going into the woods to jerk off alone, because if he stayed then he would not be able to stay respectful. Jaskier had a moan that just made him want to bite the bard’s neck and never let go. All that kept him going was the good time they were making, and the way Jaskier smiled at him. It was so damn open. He had always had an open look before, but now there is something else to it. An odd calm and certainty. A surety in who they were together now, perhaps. Geralt wasn’t exactly the best at reading smiles.

Geralt had bait for the griffin and what he needed to mix up his potions. He went to their rooms and Jaskier already had things laid out for Geralt to mix potions. “I think I have it all right,” Jaskier said looking at the table. “Watched you often enough.”

“It is correct,” Geralt said. “You saved me some time.”

Jaskier nodded and looked at him. “I know some of it is grand and super important witcher secrets, but I could help more?” 

Geralt was about to say no, because there was so little wolf school knowledge left after the sacking of Kaer Morhen that they guarded it fiercely. But it was Jaskier. It was his husband. “I can’t share everything but I need this ground to a paste with water,” he said handing Jaskier some flowers. He kept an eye on Jaskier, but he was doing well, and Geralt gave him a few other tasks. “Good,” he praised and enjoyed the colour that rose on Jaskier’s cheek. “You like it when I say stuff like that to you.”

“Well, after years of you being an asshole,” Jaskier said. 

Geralt looked up from where he was looking. “I was trying to tease? Like how you did. Sometimes, anyways. And sometimes I was an asshole.” He shrugged a bit. “It was always so hard to figure out what to say to you.”

“You’ve been doing better,” Jaskier said.

“I’m not trying to pretend that I don’t feel a million things about you. Makes it easier to use my words, as Ciri told me to,” Geralt explained.

“Why did you pretend we weren’t friends?”

“Because humans always fuck witchers over in the end.”

“Please, the only way I want to fuck you over, is if you are under me.” Geralt groaned a little bit at that thought. Jaskier was grinning at him, “You like it when I say stuff like that to you.”

Geralt could only nod and went back to work on the potions, so that he didn’t grab Jaskier. When they were done he packed everything up. Dusk was close and that would be a good time to lay a trap for the griffin. “You will stay here, griffins are unpredictable.”

“I remember,” Jaskier huffed. “And besides they promised decent coin if I sing tonight, raise spirits a bit because of the attacks.”

Geralt nodded. “You have a knife on you?”

“Yes,” Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Geralt, I did survive many years without you, I would remind you.”

“Yes, I know.” Geralt still wanted to fuss. “But keep an eye on people, remember watch their waist and feet, it will show earlier which direction the punch is going to come from and -”

“And if you don’t leave, you’ll lose the last of the light,” Jaskier pointed out. Geralt kissed his forehead, headed out. He laid his trap and waited. It was going well, until it turned out the griffin had a mate. Geralt had to take all his potions and was approaching toxicity but he would rather be alive. He fought hard, and they got a good few swipes in. He was going to have some fresh scars on his stomach, but he managed to kill them both. He cut off the heads and took them to the alderman and was surprised that he was paid more than the original amount since it had been two. 

He made his way to the inn, and the second Jaskier saw him, Jaskier called an end to the singing and hustled Geralt upstairs. Honestly it was probably wrong that Geralt had actually been looking forward to getting hurt on a hunt, because then Jaskier would touch him, take care of him. Gentle hands, fussing, he wanted it so badly. Geralt perhaps leaned on Jaskier a little more than he needed to as they went up to the room.

And yes the fussing was also accompanied with yelling at him about not taking care of himself, and the clear signs of toxicity along with the blood. Geralt found a water skin held to his lips and he drank, and it didn’t really help the thirst. He blinked and found himself naked. Jaskier was really good at that. “I’m fine,” Geralt said, because Jaskier would expect that of him. He found himself nudged towards a chair and sat.

Jaskier started cleaning his chest, and fuck it, Geralt didn’t bother to stop the purr that was in his chest. Because Jaskier was touching him, and caring for him. “These don’t need stitches,” Jaskier said softly. “I’m honestly more concerned about how many potions you drank.”

“Enough,” was how Geralt replied to that. “There were two. Didn’t expect that.”

“Shit,” Jaskier said. “Tell me they paid you double.”

Geralt snorted. “When do they ever pay double, but they paid more.”

“That’s something. This will sting.” Jaskier always warned when he cleaned wounds, but it never honestly stung. But maybe Geralt grunted when the soap cleaned the wounds. He shivered because that made Jaskier blow softly on the wounds and that was causing a very different response in Geralt. “I know you are faking,” Jaskier said. “You don’t have to do this to get me to touch you. You could just ask me to touch you.”  
  
“Touch me?” Geralt asked. The wounds were swiftly bandaged and then Jaskier was sitting astride his lap and cupping his face. “I am fine.”

“I know. All this time, I think I know when to worry and not.”

“You never have to worry,” Geralt told him.

“I always worry,” Jaskier countered. 

Geralt was content to have Jaskier on his lap, hands on Geralt’s shoulders. Well he wasn’t content because Jaskier could be naked too, and they could be doing more than sitting. “We have made good time,” he said. “We’ll be to Yennefer’s in a few days.”

“Kaer Morhen is still weeks away,” Jaskier protested.

“We are going to Yennefer’s, she hates the keep,” Geralt said. “She and Triss have hidden the manor house well, to keep Ciri safe, to keep themselves safe. It is a beautiful spot. Fields of flowers and plants for Triss behind it. Tall enough men laying down would be well hidden from interested eyes. We can make it all official in those fields. There is probably even jaskier planted there.” Geralt couldn’t help himself, stroked a finger down Jaskier’s nose. He laughed at how that made him scrunch up the nose after. “Do you know what you remind me of?”

“Not a fucking clue, Geralt,” Jaskier said.

“The foxes in the woods around Kaer Morhen. The are half tame, half wild, so clever and playful. Wolves don’t hunt foxes you know, they live together in the woods, generally peacefully. My sharp little fox,” Geralt said and ran that finger over his nose again. “Beautiful and bright fur, so vain, when they jump it is almost like dancing and you can think them so beautiful that it is easy to forget that they are wily, survivors. That they have teeth.” Jaskier bared his in a smile, and Geralt had to press his forehead to Jaskier’s. “Is that okay, that you are my fox?”

“Very,” Jaskier agreed. “The scavenge off a wolf’s scraps often, it feels fitting.” Jaskier breathed in and so did Geralt. He loved how they smelled like each other, clothes sharing a pack, how they cuddled at night. “We leave to Yennefer tomorrow?”

Geralt nodded. “I sent word to everyone. They had been headed anyways, but hoping perhaps Yen will use some magic, so everyone is there when we arrive.”

“Not terrifying at all, you know. To meet ‘everyone’,” Jaskier said. “Did you know I often don’t make the best first impression?”

“They’ll love you,” Geralt swore. “I promise.” He knew they would, just because he made Geralt happy, and soon enough they’d love Jaskier just because you couldn’t not love him. “Can I get dressed now?”

“I like the view,” Jaskier protested.

“Not really fair that I don’t have a view as well,” Geralt said. “But on the other hand, if I had a view, I would find it difficult not to touch. So please, Jaskier let me get dressed.” He felt empty when Jaskier climbed off his lap, and Geralt put pants on. Just a few more days. That was all, a few more days.

*  
“Geralt, there is nothing here, it is just a field,” Jaskier was looking around. “A beautiful field, but a field.”

Geralt smiled and held up the charm that Yennefer had given him a year ago. A small opening in space seemed to appear. “Go,” he said and Jaskier held out his hand. Geralt linked their fingers and they walked through the illusion. “And there we are.” It was an elegant house, suited Yennefer, and the fields of flowers screamed Triss’s hand. The elegance was a bit marred by the roars and shouts they could hear, the clash of steel from behind the house. Ciri was having training. Geralt looked at Jaskier. “I’m sorry,” he said and ran. He hurried around the building and saw Triss cutting flowers, Yennefer talking with Eskel. Vesemir was dozing in a chair, a book on his lap and Ciri and Lambert were shouting at each other and they most certainly were not using blunted blades. Geralt dove into the fight and pushed Lambert back with a snarl.

He hit the ground as Ciri’s foot took out the back of his knee. “Don’t help!” she shouted. “I can do this.” She used his shoulder as a spring board and launched herself at Lambert who caught her and just swung her around until she was begging him to stop. “I’ll puke!” She was then dropped on Geralt, and he wrapped her in a hug.

“I missed you, so much,” Geralt whispered against her hair.

“I missed you too,” she said squeezing tight. “But you are alone!”

“No, I just needed to see you.” Geralt sat her up and turned her head, to where Jaskier was coming around the corner. Triss was running over and hugging him. Yennefer pretended not to care. And he could see his family eye ing him up.

“Trust you were respectful, boy?” Vesemir said, proving that he hadn’t been asleep at all.

“I was pretty damn respectful,” Geralt said.

“Doesn’t mean he was completely respectable with his embraces,” Lambert snarked and Eskel snickered a bit.

“Geralt! We did all that research,” Ciri chided. “You were supposed to court him.”

“I did, completely properly. I got him a satchel,” Geralt said. 

“Bloody brilliant one,” Eskel agreed. “I met him.”

“And a doublet! Plus lots of flowers, and I used my words, and never once crossed the lines he set,” Geralt said. He didn’t mention how close he toed those lines. “Don’t know why the books said courting was a difficult process it all went smoothly. We are handfasted but agreed it wouldn’t count as wed until we exchanged a few promises in front of you, our family.”

“That’s so romantic,” Ciri sighed. She looked over and Triss was bringing Jaskier to them. She stood up, and was hit by rare nerves. But this was the most important person in the world to Geralt. She wondered if she should wave or curtsy or something. 

Geralt could feel her nerves and pulled her close. “It is Jaskier, trust me there is nothing to be nervous about.” He brought her over, and could feel his family circling behind them. He looked over and they were just standing there, looking all intense. “Relax will you?” he asked them. They did not. And lord, Geralt realized they were actually a bit nervous to meet Jaskier as well. It is intimidating to meet a man so willing to take a witcher on, to show no fear of them. 

When he turned back, Yen was right in front of Jaskier, and Geralt was struck by a case of nerves as well. Because they had a wee bit of history together, and well, both were kind of bitchy.

He had a type.

But then Yen was hugging him and offering her honest congratulations over their bond.

Jaskier looked incredibly awkward in the embrace and sort of gave Yennefer a there there pat. “Thank you? And you really don’t mind?”

“Triss is better at -”

Geralt coughed loudly to cut off whatever she was going to say because it absolutely was not something that Ciri should hear. His brothers were clearly snickering behind him. “Jaskier,” he called and Jaskier managed to get free of Yen and come over. Geralt felt the smile grow on his face, as Jaskier gave a perfect bow to Ciri.

“Princess,” Jaskier said, “I knew your mother, and you are the image of her. It is my great honour to better make your acquaintance.”

“Better?”

“I met you when you were not yet two, you peed on me.”

Ciri giggled, and Geralt felt warm. He knew they would get along well. Winter would be a happy time at the keep. He could picture it, training Ciri, cuddled with Jaskier. It was everything a witcher was taught they could never have, and it was truly his.

But he knew that Jaskier would appreciate proper introductions. “Ciri, Vesemir. My brothers, may I formally present to you, Julian Alfred Pankratz, former Viscount of Lettenhove, Jaskier the bard, my fox. Husband, may I present to you, for this first time so that they soon can become yours, my family.” 

“You remembered close to the proper greeting!” Ciri sounded so proud of him, and honestly he was pretty proud of himself as well.

“It is my pleasure to…wait, what the fuck did you just call me Geralt?”

Shit, he needed to be less proud of himself. “I know, fuck I’m sorry.”

“Sorry about what? Calling him your fox, you should be, he is a wolf too,” Vesemir said. “Any husband of yours would clearly be a wolf.”

“Now, Vesemir, it is cute that he calls his husband a fox,” Eskel protested.

Geralt winced. Each time they called Jaskier Geralt’s husband he went whiter. Because Geralt had promised. 

“I think it is a sweet endearments for a wedded spouse to offer,” Triss said with a pointed look to Yen.

“And if we ever get married like they did, I’ll permit you to call me something equally stupid.” Yennefer was holding Triss’s hand, and looking more content than Geralt remembered her ever being with him. 

“Jaskier, Geralt will tell it poorly, you’ll tell us about how it was when you had your handfasting ceremony won’t you? And the details of Geralt courting you. Eskel told us a bit, but you’ll tell it better. I bet you even have a song already, about how wonderful it is to be the husband of the white wolf?” Ciri looked eager for details, in the way a young woman always was for romance.

“Hey, he gets paler each time we say husband,” Lambert said. “Look. Husband, husband Geralt’s husband. Hey this is a fun game, he’s swaying now. Husband, Geralt’s husband.” 

“Lambert you jackass,” Geralt hurried over to Jaskier. “I promised him that I would not call him husband until after we made it a bit more official in front of the family. He’s all romantic and sentimental on that kind of stuff. I am sorry, my beloved. Fuck, sorry,” Geralt couldn’t stop himself because they were there and soon every dream would come true. “Jaskier, my apologies, I could have waited a few more hours to call you my husband, out loud, even though my heart has been saying for weeks since the druid handfasted us.”

“Geralt?” Jaskier was swaying a lot.

“Yes?”

“Catch me,” and then Jaskier just fell over in a faint. Geralt caught him. 

“Lambert, you fucking idiot, look what you did!”

“I didn’t know he was allergic to a word. Who the fuck is allergic to a word?” Lambert grumbled. “Did I kill him? I know a necromancer, I can fix it. Maybe.”

“We traveled hard to get here,” Geralt said. “And he was nervous about this.”

“I have a lovely room prepared for you,” Triss said. “Take him up.” 

Geralt swept Jaskier up in his arms and took him to the corner room that Triss had set up for him. He lay Jaskier on the bed and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. Poor bard, everything had been building to this and his family being idiots, him being an idiot ruined it a bit. He kissed Jaskier’s forehead and left him be. He hurried back downstairs where Ciri was just shouting at Lambert, who looked a little embarrassed.

“Right, while he is out, we are making this place look gorgeous and festive,” Geralt ordered. “All…I don’t know. Yen? Help?”

“You want me to make my garden -”

“My garden,” Triss chimed in.

“Beautiful for you, my ex, to finish wedding a man I dislike.”

“Yes,” Geralt nodded. “And you like him. You only bicker like that with people you like. If you hated him you’d ignore him. Eskel, you are in charge of food, Vesemir, can you find me the right sort of poem to read him? I dunno, whatever you say when you make promises to your husband.” Fuck it, he had said it and now he would never stop saying it. “What else?”

“I’ll get alcohol,” Lambert said.

“I’m going to make you pretty for him,” Ciri said. “I can cut your hair.”

“No,” Geralt said swiftly.

“Yes,” everyone shouted.

“Promises at dusk, won’t that be lovely?” Ciri said. “And dancing in moonlight?”

Geralt liked the thought of that. “Everyone to work, to make the official finishing of all this as perfect as it can be.” Everyone started buzzing about, and he let Ciri drag him through the house, to cut his hair a little bit. He assumed Yennefer would have proper clothes for him as well. He wanted to look as perfect as he could for Jaskier, when they made it all truly official. He was beaming and he didn’t even try to hide it. It had all lead to what was going to happen in just a few hours.

It was a countdown to his dreams and to the end of respectability. 

Geralt sat where Ciri pushed him and she started to scrub his hair. “Tell me everything,” she ordered and Geralt happily obliged.


	12. Chapter 12

Jaskier woke up quickly, bolted up in fact and looked around the room. It was quite lovely. Large bed, with posts and curtains, fireplace with sitting area. Steaming bath in the corner. Triss in the windowsill, mending one of his doublets and laughing at whatever she was seeing out the window. All very nice. Very nice, indeed. “Husband?” he yelled.

Triss looked at him and smiled. “Geralt is so sorry, that he said it before you were official. And he debated murdering Lambert for teasing you like that.” Triss looked out the window. “Oh Melitele, you have to come see,” she held out her hand, and well anything that was making Triss giggle like that he had to see. He looked down and Ciri was on Eskel’s shoulders hanging ribbons from trees, Lambert and Vesemir were moving tables about and Geralt and Yennefer were standing in the middle of it all clearly yelling at each other. “Near as I can tell they are arguing about whether blue, or purple is a better colour for decorating.”

“She wants purple because it would match your garden best,” Jaskier said looking around. “But why is he stuck on blue?”

Triss opened the window.

“Excuse me for not taking decorating advice from a man who has worn the same black shirt for the last fifty years!”

“It is my fucking wedding, Yennefer. You marry Triss you can have all the purple you want, you can fucking dye my hair purple, but this is for Jaskier and he likes blue. He was wearing blue when we first met!”

“I like blue,” Ciri called out.

“Of course you do, you have good taste, unlike some people.”

“Shit, Geralt, she’ll cover your face in boils and then your fox won’t get this over with,” Lambert shouted. 

“I know you are stressed about your husband being a man of refined taste, and you being a disaster, but don’t take it out on your ex, pup,” Vesemir snapped.

“Yes, pup, don’t take it out on me,” Yennefer smiled at him. “Vesemir, you are clearly a man of sense, how did you raise such idiotic children?”

Jaskier could see Geralt getting ready to murder everyone. “Blue, for his eyes, white for the promise of eternal love, a hint of purple for the passion that burns in our hearts? Is that acceptable? We’re all stone cold sons of bitches and army slayers! But your back into it and make this fucking perfect for my fox!” Geralt stalked off.

“Where are you going?” Ciri asked.

“Find flowers that mean I love you eternally and all that shit. Like the first bouquet I gave him!”

Ciri vaulted off Eskel’s shoulders. “I’m coming! I want a flower crown for the wedding.” She was running after Geralt and he waited his hand out for her to hold.

Triss closed the window, “Well, you know Yennefer will dye his hair purple if we even make the vows you two are doing tonight.” She smiled at him.

Jaskier looked at her. “Triss?” He reached out and took her hand. “I need a friend right now.”

“Of course, that is why I am here. Geralt wanted you to have some company. He realized that fundamentally it was all his people here. Felt a bit shitty that he didn’t ask if you wanted friends or family there to hear you wed Geralt.”

“I’m not marrying, Geralt,” Jaskier said slowly.

“Well no, I suppose technically not,” she agreed. “You subscribe to the old ways like him that handfasting is married? That is so sweet,” Triss sighed happily. “You two are so perfect together. But still, you both agreed that making promises to each other in front of family, would sort of well make it all official.” Triss grinned. “He’s already asked if this room is magically soundproofed.” She smirked at him. “Yennefer is tired, but she has one portal left in her if you want some friends brought. Even family. Geralt has promised not to murder them.”

“No, I don’t have anyone really. I have him,” Jaskier said. “Triss?”

“There we go, the loose hem all fixed,” she held it up. “I know you are going to wear the doublet he gave you as the third courting gift for the wedding, but I needed to occupy my hands.”

“Thank you,” he smiled at her. “Triss, remember I said I needed a friend? That means I need you to listen to me.”

“I am so sorry, of course,” she agreed. “Oh, and Geralt -”

“Triss, I’m not his husband, you are all under some sort of spell and we need to figure out how to rescue you!” Jaskier cupped her face, terrified for her, for all of them. “I don’t know what happened, maybe when we stepped through the magic that lets you see this place, but everyone keeps saying husband and wedding, and have these weird ideas or memories implanted in them. But I don’t. Whatever magic it is has no sway over me. Why I passed out, I assume, the magic trying to claw its way into my brain. But we need to get Geralt his memories back. Because if he thinks we courted and married, which I know didn’t happen, he will be furious when the truth comes to light, if we didn’t try to convince him right away about something being wrong.”

Triss nodded and he was relieved at how serious she looked. “I’ll be right back,” she promised. “Don’t leave this room?”

“No, of course,” he agreed swiftly. Triss ran from the room and he was relieved that she had listened and believed him. Because something was horribly wrong. Yennefer hadn’t been cruel, a fucking princess looked nervous to meet him, Geralt called him husband. Something was clearly and terrifyingly wrong. They were all obviously under a spell or a curse. But when and what? That was puzzling to Jaskier because clearly someone had implanted these memories into everyone’s heads.

Geralt had never courted him.

Yes, he kept giving random gifts to Jaskier, and flowers, but that wasn’t courting. Who even courted anymore? That’s how he knew it was bullshit. Had anyone in the last 50 years even used the word courting? He started to pace a little, trying to put the puzzle pieces together and figure out why he was the one who was immune to the magic that did this. It was doubly concerning because he had given that ring to Geralt to protect him from magic. How strong was this magic to override that?

“Jaskier!” Geralt came running in, holding flowers. “No Ciri, stay back,” he tried to order.

“No,” she snapped and barreled in next to him. “Your husband is bespelled, I am magic or have magic, or something. Maybe I can help.”

“Everyone quiet, so I can study him,” Yennefer said as she stalked into the room. Triss was right behind her and so were the other witchers. It was a big room, but made small by all the people in it.

“Fix him, Yennefer,” Geralt pleaded. “Whatever magic made him forget we are handfasted to each other, fix it.”

“Geralt, shut up, and let me work.”

“Just give us a road to follow, and we’ll kill whoever it is that fucked with one of ours,” Vesemir said, and Eskel nodded in agreement.

“Fix it, because that is really good wine that we were planning to drink after all the I love you more crap they were going to do,” Lambert said. He grunted when Eskel hit him.

Jaskier couldn’t help but notice though, that Lambert’s fist were clenched ready to fight, to protect. “What is going on? I’m not under a spell. All of you are under a spell!” He looked at Yennefer. “Yennefer, think about it. You are currently believing that Geralt courted and handfasted me. ME! That’s just not possible,” he pleaded. “We’re friends, he would never do that.”

Yennefer was lightly casting, and so was Triss. “No, there is no magic. Geralt did he hit his head on something when he fainted? A hidden bit of metal or something.”

“WE AREN’T HANDFASTED!” Jaskier shouted. He looked over to Geralt who was looking very panicked. Good. “Are you starting to remember?” He moved over to Geralt. “Geralt, you didn’t court me. Think about it. Why would you court me? That is crazy thinking.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt put his hands on Jaskier’s shoulders and Jaskier looked into his eyes. “Jaskier do you not remember the druid man, who wrapped the cloth around our wrists?”

“No, of course I remember that,” Jaskier said, “But that is what I am telling you, that your memories have been altered.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Vesemir asked. “Yennefer?”

Triss was the one to shake her head. “There is no magic on them, on us. A hit to his head is the only explanation.” She looked over to Yennefer, “Right?”

Yennefer was slowly starting to smile. “No, there is one other explanation.”

“What is it?” Eskel asked. “What do we fight?”

“We just need to watch this play out,” Yennefer replied. “Ciri? My love? Could you -”

“I’m not leaving,” Ciri snarled. “I’m making flower crowns for the wedding, because in Cintra you wear flower crowns.” She was working all the flowers that Geralt had brought in, into rings. “And something is clearly happening, and I’m not leaving because all of you are overprotective fusspots.”

“I’m not,” Lambert said.

“Oh really? Because I can tell Geralt about the time -”

“Don’t ruin my reputation,” Lambert hissed.

“We all know you are a softie under there, sweetie,” Triss said. “Yen, what is going on?”

Yennefer sat on the bed, chin propped up on her hand. “Let’s just find out, shall we?”

Jaskier hated when Yennefer knew something he didn’t, especially when it was about himself. But he needed to focus. “Of course I remember the druid, Geralt,” Jaskier said and something seemed to relax in him. “But it wasn’t handfasting for marriage. He wrapped the cloth wrong for that. And the promises. It was the old Rivanian custom of Battle Blood. But somehow your memories have been warped.”

Why did Geralt look so confused?

“The what custom?”

“It is a warrior bond, about two hundred years old?” Jaskier said. “Bit fuzzy but I remembered it from my cultural history class. And you are old, so clearly that is why we did that to show how now you don’t hate me anymore.”

“One, I never hated you, two how the fuck would I know an ancient Rivanian custom?”

“Because you are an ancient Rivanian?” Jaskier frowned at him. He frowned at everyone. “Was he the one to hit his head?”

“He’s not Rivanian,” Vesemir said. “Why do you think that?”

Jaskier closed his eyes for a moment. “I don’t know because he introduces himself as GERALT OF FUCKING RIVIA?”

“He doesn’t know your name is made up?” Lambert was looking between them. “I’m not sure this is a sound basis for a marriage.”

“Vesemir gave me that name, my mother abandoned me at the keep too young for me to remember it. I am from nowhere, so we picked Rivia. What the fuck is a battle bond?”

“I -”

“Wait,” Ciri looked up. “I know that! It is from a romance novel series. It isn’t a thing, it is just from this series of steamy books my nurse had hidden under her bed.”

Jaskier paused. “Oh, that would explain why the memories were hazy. I did hide a lot of fun reading behind my textbooks.” Jaskier paused. “Wait, if that shit is in fact complete shit…YOU WERE COURTING ME GERALT. WE’RE HANDFASTED.”

“Oh, good, his memory is back,” Triss was relieved. “We can finish getting the celebrations ready.”

“No, no, just wait for it,” Yennefer was grinning, looking ready to eat someone alive. “Because this is about to get good.”

“I don’t understand,” Eskel said. “What is about to get good?”

Jaskier took a few slow breaths and counted to ten. “You weren’t courting me. I think I would notice if I was being courted.” He was sure he wouldn’t have missed that. “You were being my friend.”

“Friendship is a vital component of building a solid marriage,” all the witchers repeated in unison.

“I need to sit,” Jaskier said and found himself on the bed next to Yennefer. And then Geralt was kneeling at his feet. “Geralt? Can you please do me a favour and explain what you think has happened the last 5 months?”

Geralt was clearly concerned, but nodded. “I met you at Oxenfurt, and brought you a bouquet of intention, with the flowers showing my love, devotion etc, you know what they mean because you plucked out the apple blossom from the bouquet and tapped me with it. Which with your education you know that flower means I prefer you before all, so you were signaling that you accepted my intent to court you.”

Jaskier gave a solemn nod of understanding. “Yes, of course. Clearly. Continue.” He tried to ignore Yennefer’s cackling next to him.

“You had no clue. You don’t know what flowers mean at all do you?” she said.

“I know buttercups are poison why I named myself Jaskier,” he replied. “So, clearly I know something about flowers.”

“That is their properties, not their meaning,” Triss said softly. “Jaskier, do you know the meaning of flowers?”

“Roses mean I love you,” Jaskier replied. “Clearly I know flowers.”

“Well no, only certain roses mean I love you, it depends on the colour. Ciri had me thoroughly versed in what flowers meant,” Geralt said. He was frowning but continued. “All our research said that to court a noble you needed three courting gifts.”

The other witchers nodded. “A gift to show he can provide for you, one to show that he truly saw and understood you, and meeting the family,” Eskel said. “He had to mess with the order a bit, is that why you are having trouble with it? Because he messed with the order and you met me second?”

“So, you weren’t hitting on me. You were…”

“Ew, you are Geralt’s why would I hit on you?”

“He is attractive,” Lambert offered. “I was the one to find in the courting book about the importance of respectable embraces! That showed how seriously he took his suit of you. The not ravishing you.”

“Right, just so you know I will be killing you in your sleep for that one,” Jaskier said momentarily distracted. 

“I like you!” Lambert grinned. “But this is all too weird. I’m going to go finish setting up outside for the party.”

“You don’t want to miss this,” Yennefer called out.

“Someone was an idiot, they’ll get all lovey dovey, and then party, I got this shit figured out,” Lambert said and walked away.

Jaskier hoped a few others would take his lead, but no everyone else was staying.

“Remind him of the great satchel, Geralt, that should help,” Eskel urged. 

“Oh yes, Geralt told me about the magic satchel,” Ciri had two crowns finished. “Said it was the perfect gift.”

Jaskier lay down on the bed and looked because Yennefer was laying next to him, grinning evilly. “I hate you. You are enjoying this far too much.”

“You had no fucking clue he was courting you, did you?” she said.

“None,” Jaskier groaned and covered his eyes.

“WHAT?” Geralt’s voice rang loudest though everyone was shouting. The yelling just increased and Jaskier played the last several months through his head, shifting it all in his mind, putting all the pieces together. 

“Yen?”

“Yes?”

“Kill me now. No creature this stupid should be allowed to live,” Jaskier declared dramatically. He choked when the pillow was pressed over his face for just a moment before it was removed. “Actually a piss poor way to kill someone,” he pointed out. He sat up. Geralt was still kneeling, and he could not read the look on his face. “Geralt, you courted me.”

“I did.”

“You believe you sort of married me.”

“I did.”

“And now all your family are waiting for us to make it ‘official’ tonight.”

“They are.”

“And I never fucking clued in.”

“Seems like that.”

“Now, do you know whose fault that is?”

“Yours for being so far up your own dramatic ass you missed real life happening right in front of you,” Geralt growled.

“Or, or just maybe since you never ONCE USED THE FUCKING SENTENCE JASKIER I AM COURTING YOU WITH THE INTENT TO MARRY YOU, maybe you carry a little of the blame?”

“I told you in a million ways,” Geralt snapped. “I absolutely…never used the word courting.” He went from kneeling to sitting. “How did I never actually use the word courting?”

“I have no fucking clue,” Jaskier said. “And why were you even courting me? Geralt no one does that formal shit anymore. It is old as hell.”

“Except for Ciri and you, everyone in the room is old as hell. And it is what the books said, and Ciri said.” Geralt was looking at his daughter. Her tongue was sticking out at she wove the last crown.

“So, I feel like you cannot be mad at me for missing this whole thing, since you took your advice from what 100 year old books, and a young woman who doesn’t have any experience in the regular world to see normal relationships?”

“Oh no, I can absolutely be mad at you for not asking what the fuck was up with everything I was doing. Because if you didn’t know I was courting you, then you should have been really confused by everything that was going on.”

“I was!” Jaskier shouted. “But if I questioned it you might have gone away. And you were my friend again.”

“I’m not just your friend, I’m your fucking husband and I love you, you idiot!” Geralt shouted as he got to his feet. “Nope, we are handfasted now, you cannot back out of it. I was stuck with you following my ass for twenty years. You are stuck with me being your husband until we are dead.”

“Who said I was going anywhere, you giant lummox?” Jaskier snapped back now on his feet again. “And you don’t get to throw around I love yous like you invented them. Because I’ve loved you for since the goddamn werewolf attack when I was twenty three. I knew it the whole time. You only figured it out this past winter.”

“Yeah, and I actually did something about it, instead of pining like a moron. I courted you.”

“It doesn’t really count if the person has no fucking clue they are being courted!” Jaskier shouted.

“Fine!” Geralt shouted. “Everyone but Ciri with me. Ciri, he tries to leave the room, stab your new father.”

“Sure,” she agreed easily.

Jaskier watched everyone leave. “What just happened?”

“I don’t know, really, but that was his stubborn face. So something stupid or amazing is going to happen,” she said. “Flower crowns?”

Jaskier went and sat next to her. “So, how was your summer?” he asked and started weaving stems together.

“Good! Yennefer taught me a lot, and so did Triss, though I find the plants a bit boring. This can do this, blah blah blah,” she said.

“I kind of hate flowers,” he admitted.

“Then why did you name yourself after one?”

“I’m just contrary like that,” he explained. “I trust your summer wasn’t all lessons, that you had fun to. Poetry, and music?”

“Not really, but I’ll have you for that in winter. Geralt said you’d love teaching me all of that. I mean, if you want,” she tried to shrug, like it didn’t matter.

“I would love that,” Jaskier agreed. “He was courting me.”

“We spent weeks researching it, to make sure he got it right. He said it had to be perfect for you, because you were the best thing in his life, and he couldn’t fuck that up again. I’m not supposed to say fuck, but everyone around me says it every third word so I think I should be allowed three fucks a day.”

“So should I,” Jaskier muttered and remembered he was talking to a child. His child. “I mean, I won’t tell Geralt you cursed.”

“About that satchel,” she said.

Jaskier put his head on the table and banged it. “Not you too. He got me the most important book in all of bardic history, and only ever talks about the satchel.”

“He’s practical, you know that,” she pointed out and Jaskier did. “What else did he get you that matters to you?”

“The book, he sang one of my songs in public,” Jaskier said softly. “He was ready to murder my mother for denying me. He promised if I just waited, I would have a family that -” Jaskier quieted a bit and looked at Ciri, thought of all the idiots that had run out of the room. People ready to defend and protect him just because he was Geralt’s. Not even that, just because he was Jaskier. His eyes welled a bit and he wiped a tear away. “Anyways,” he cleared a throat. “He bought me red lip paint. He let me have first bath. He did a million little things. Like he used to, they were just more obvious now.” They were so fucking obvious now that he knew the truth. “Used his words more.”

“That was me, I told him to do that,” Ciri said. “But I don’t think it worked if you didn’t notice you were being courted. How did you miss that, even with him not saying the words?”

“Because I was so happy to just be with him again,” Jaskier said honestly. “I missed him, our lives so much. God teaching at the university was so boring. So many meetings. Teaching you, sweet one, will be much more fun.” He thought about it. “And it just, to think Geralt, the white wolf, loved me? That is an impossible thought. He is one to be loved, but so damaged by his life and people that he would never let himself love.”

“That’s just fucking stupid, his heart is huge.”

“I know, I just never thought he would know that,” he said. “And that it would be directed at me.”

“Are you happy that it is directed at you?” she asked.

Jaskier smiled. “I am.” They finished making crowns and chatted away about far easier topics. They both heard running feet. “Well, let’s see what this is about, shall we?”

Everyone stormed back into the room, even Lambert who had a bottle of wine in his hand.

Geralt was glowering and had his arms full. He slammed some paper on the table. “Read it,” he growled.

Jaskier picked it up. “ _I, Geralt of Rivia, a fake name so you know so you can’t mistake this as an ancient Rivanian custom that it turns out is from a romance novel and not actual history, do hereby write this as a letter of intent. I intend to court you Julian Alfred Pankratz, a fake name because it is stupid and fussy and all that your name is Jaskier, we all know that. Anyways, I write this to let you know I am going to court the fuck out of you. Do you accept my intent, sincerely Geralt of Rivia, again a made up name just to remind you._ ”

Jaskier was going to keep that letter forever. “Yes, I do formally accept your intent to court me,” he promised. A bag was dropped on his lap.

“Bag of holding,” Geralt grunted. “Showing I can provide for you, even though technically these days you bring in more coin that I do. But it is the principle of it. So bag, holds lots of extra stuff, so you can bring more doublets on the road. But it won’t weigh you down. Found it in Yen’s storage closet. But there first gift.”

“Yen?”

“It clashes with my clothes,” she dismissed and Jaskier smiled at her. 

“My thanks,” he said sincerely and returned his gaze to Geralt. “I see the gift, and it does show that you can provide for my needs.”

“Thank you,” Geralt gave a small bow. “Now sticking with the order I have already done that you were too stuck up your own ass to notice. There is meeting the family. You were with Ciri, you two like each other?”

“Yes,” Ciri said happily. “I like him a lot.”

“I adore your daughter, Geralt,” Jaskier promised.

“Your daughter too, and your cousins, and brothers, and father. I give you a family that actually cares about you.” He gestured to everyone. “Do you accept?”

“I accept,” Jaskier said and he was not crying, and he would stab anyone who said he was. “I very much accept this family and this courting gift.”

“Right, there we go. Last one, the one that says I see you completely and utterly,” Geralt paused. “I’m not singing again.”

“We are all agreed on that being a good thing,” Lambert said.

“He has a lovely voice,” Jaskier glared at him.

“No, he doesn’t,” Eskel replied. “But we love that you think that.”

“Will everyone shut up and let me show my husband that I fucking see him already?” Geralt growled. He took a deep breath. “Yen?”

“Yes?”

“What we talked about,” he said and a portal opened, and Geralt walked through and returned a moment later. The portal closed. “There.”

“I don’t understand?” Jaskier hadn’t really be able to see.

“I just pulled Valdo Marx’s trousers down while he was on stage performing for nobility.”

“That’s -” Jaskier looked at him. He began to laugh. “Oh my god, Geralt.”

“I am pretty sure I have ruined the reputation you spent a few decades improving. And I don’t care. Your rival was vaguely humiliated in front of important people.” Geralt was looking at him. “There we go. Three courting gifts.”

“Did you really just fucking do that?”

“No, of course I didn’t, that was a random ass portal. The point was the intent. I would have been willing to do that for you.” Geralt said. 

Jaskier started to laugh. And he couldn’t stop. 

“Well, that’s better than fainting. I wonder if he is still allergic to the word.” Lambert took a swig of the wine. “Geralt’s husband. Husband, husband? He just looks happier each time you say it now. That’s no fun.”

“That is a shitty third courting thing, because if you really knew me, Geralt, you’d know I’d never want anything that would harm you, or how people see you,” Jaskier pointed out.

“Told you,” Yennefer said.

“I know that!” Geralt huffed. “Why I didn’t actually do it. It was about the whole, his enemies are my enemies thing. In the song.”

“What song?”

“The one he wrote about our relationship, I am not fucking singing it, but there is a part where he swears that all who stand against me, I don’t face them alone, because he is at my side. So I am showing I am always at his side. Because there is no place that is better than at his side.”

“Oh, that is so romantic,” Ciri said. She put a flower crown on her head. “Jaskier hates flowers, so you have to wear the one I made for him, Geralt.” 

Jaskier watched as Geralt put the crown on. Because his daughter made it. Because he was told Jaskier didn’t like flowers and so wanted him to be comfortable. Because all he wanted was for Jaskier to have everything. Jaskier smiled. “Why are we all standing around here? We need to make this official.”

Geralt pulled him in for a hard kiss and everyone cheered. Geralt then started to drag him outside. 

“What? Wait, I’m in my travel clothes. There is a bath right there. Give me like an hour to get pretty,” Jaskier protested.

“No, because you’ll fuck it up somehow,” Geralt snapped. “Outside now.”

“I’m not getting married in this fucking doublet!” Jaskier shouted. 

Triss went through his bag, and grabbed the one Geralt had bought for the third courting gift. Eskel managed to get Geralt to let go of Jaskier, and Jaskier with Triss’s help primped on the walk downstairs, made himself as presentable as possible. Geralt didn’t have any blood on him, so that was good enough. They stepped into the garden area which was half decorated, abandoned from everyone being scared he had been under a spell. His family caring more about his needs above anything else. It looked perfect.

There was a stern looking woman standing in the middle of it all. 

“Tissaia,” Yennefer said. “Thank you for coming.”

“The rectress of Aretuza to make it as official as we are interested in,” Geralt said. “If you would like to make it official.”

Jaskier held out his hand for Geralt to take. “I would.”

“I would too,” Geralt said.

“Let’s do this, so we can eat!” Lambert called and nudged them forward.

Jaskier stood there, and smiled at all of them, his family. 

Official. He was going to be married to Geralt. “Husband,” he whispered.

“No using that word for a few more minutes,” Geralt reminded him.

“Husband,” Jaskier repeated. He smiled. “Husband, husband, husband.”

Geralt snorted and rolled his eyes. “Glad to be on the same page, now. Let’s do this.”

Jaskier nodded and turned to Tissaia. So that it could begin.


	13. Chapter 13

Geralt sat on the table, and the light was waning, Triss had cast magic so there were glowing orbs of light, and he couldn’t stop watching Jaskier dancing with Ciri. He very much did not watch Vesemir and Tissaia sharing a pipe, because that was just wrong. Especially with the glint in their eyes. He focused on his husband and daughter. Because they were beautiful and happy, and very good dancing partners for each other.

“Geralt, Tissaia and Vesemir just went for a walk,” Yennefer said as she came to sit next to him on top of the table. “I feel we should stop this.”

“Let them have their fun. Far, far away from the house. People always have fun at weddings.”

“You cried when you made your promises to him,” Yennefer teased, bouncing her shoulder off of his.

Geralt briefly glared at her and then went back to watching Jaskier and Ciri dance, though now Ciri was with Eskel and Jaskier was with Triss. It was still beautiful. “No, I didn’t.”

“You did,” Yennefer said. “Not on the outside, because you were digging your nails into your thigh. But I could absolutely hear the sniffles in your mind. They were so fucking loud.”

“But they didn’t fall, so you have nothing.” Geralt had had to clear his throat a few times, but he made sure they hadn’t fallen because everyone would have teased him for decades over it - with his husband leading the damn charge. “Jaskier is my husband.”

“Save me,” Yennefer said. “How long are you going to be besotted?”

“A long fucking time,” Geralt replied.

“Well, your besotted ass can dance with me.”

“I don’t know this dance,” Geralt tried to protest, but she dragged him over and he found himself circling with the others and at one point had Lambert in his arms. He just shrugged and swung his brother about. “You know a necromancer?”

“What? No, you misheard in the panic of the love of your life fainting, because you fucked up. My big question is, you are both idiots but who is actually winning the largest idiot competition there?”

“He is,” Geralt said firmly. He swung Lambert and brought him back in. “Clearly.”

“See, I vote you, because if you had used the word courting, he would have said he didn’t need it, and you could have been wed and not dealt with respectable embraces four months ago.”

“I am letting him kill you in your sleep,” Geralt said and let go when he spun Lambert away. Eskel caught him and soon they were swaying together. And well, that was a bit unexpected. “Respectful embrace,” he shouted at them. He turned and Triss and Yennefer weren’t exactly respectable with how they were against each other. This was turning into a problem. He looked around and saw his daughter trying to stack all the flower crowns on her head. He had a feeling from the way she was swaying that Lambert may have given her a glass or two of the wine.

“To bed with you, I think,” he said when he saw Yennefer’s hands start to drift on Triss. He heard a laugh come from the flower fields and it was a laugh he never wanted to hear again. “Now.”

“Where’d Grandfather go?” Ciri was looking around. “Did I hear him laugh?”

“No,” Geralt said. 

“Oh. Are the stars laughing?” Ciri looked up and spun around. “They are spinning.”

“How many glasses did Lambert sneak you?”

“Two,” she said holding up three fingers. “You are so pretty, Father, and my new dad is pretty and has pretty words. And my moms are pretty. Everything is so pretty.”

“Yes, everything is pretty,” Geralt agreed and swept her up into his arms. “And it is time for you to go to sleep.” He took her to her room and helped her out of her dress, leaving her in her under shift. “Are you happy for me?”

“Very,” she swore. “He is an idiot but so are you. But don’t worry, I’ll keep you both alive.”

“My thanks, you are too kind, little one,” he tucked her in and kissed her head. “Sleep and dream of pretty things.”

“When I fall in love, I’m not going to be an idiot.”

“I know you won’t be.” He smoothed down her hair and as he walked through the manor house he heard a couple doors slam. He wondered what that was about, and then decided he really didn’t want to wonder what that was about. He could hear humming, a bit of singing from the garden and knew Jaskier was still outside. Geralt walked and paused in the doorway just to watch his husband. He was dancing by himself, skipping around the grass they had tramped all night. His doublet had been thrown off and his shirt underneath was not tied, and showed all that chest hair and hidden muscle that Geralt could now touch. 

Jaskier spun and smiled at him. While Geralt had been tucking Ciri in he had put on that red lip paint.

Geralt growled a little. Respectability was done with now.

“Dance with me,” Jaskier said, bowing and holding out a hand.

“Oh, I will fucking dance with you,” Geralt said and then paused. “Tell me that was a metaphor.”

“Dance with me Geralt, on our wedding day. You danced with Lambert for fuck’s sake, you are dancing with me.”

“Can I dance you right up to our bed?”

“Geralt, you are dancing with me.”

“Vesemir is out there fucking it out on my wedding day, and I’m not yet!” Geralt stalked over. “I have been aching for you for months.”

“I’ve been aching for you for years, one dance, Geralt,” Jaskier said. He held out his hand again.

“I hate you so fucking much, my fox,” Geralt groaned and took the hand with a bow.

“Oh my god, you really would have danced with me. I cannot wait to tell Yennefer this in the morning,” Jaskier grinned. “Let’s go fuck.”

“Nope, you did this, now you can deal with this,” Geralt growled. He swept Jaskier up and they started to move around the grass. “Wedding dance.” He moved them about and enjoyed the shock on Jaskier’s face that melted away into happiness. Geralt paused to kiss him and then they started to move again. It was like out of a damn book or something. Then they heard a moan from the fields. “And enough of that,” Geralt said. He tossed Jaskier over his shoulder and bolted for their room.

Geralt’s medallion let him know the silencing magic was well in place and he threw Jaskier on the bed. “We are official,” he said. Jaskier was leaning back on the bed, shirt ridiculously open, lips so red, and fuck it made Geralt want to howl at the moon. “So, what should we do?”

“Everything,” Jaskier suggested. 

Geralt stood there and stripped off his clothes. “Everything is a good enough place to start,” he agreed. He sank to his knees and pulled of Jaskier’s boots and slowly slid his hands up his pants and those insanely strong thighs. He pulled them off and stood up. Fuck that was a sight, Jaskier in red pain and his lacy shirt and nothing else. “You are…” he didn’t actually have the words for how Jaskier made him hunger. 

He held out a hand and hauled Jaskier up, they stared at each other, almost dead in the eye, Jaskier barely shorter than him. He pulled the shirt up and off. “I am going to bite you fucking everywhere.”

“I am really fine with that, and I believe you wanted my red lips around your cock? How about we start with that?” Jaskier sank to his knees. “I promise I will thoroughly respect you while I do this.” 

Geralt sank his hands into Jaskier’s hair. “I love you, my fox,” he whispered and then laughed a bit at the way Jaskier winked up at him. Then he choked on air as he watched Jaskier slowly sink his mouth down Geralt’s cock. “Fuck,” he groaned. It wasn’t his first blow job, hell it wasn’t his one hundredth, but it was better than any he remembered, because it was Jaskier.

And he was just objectively good at this. 

Geralt found his fingers scraping at Jaskier’s scalp, and that each tug made Jaskier moan around his cock. And fuck those perfect red lips did look incredible. He pulled harder on Jaskier’s hair until he was off Geralt’s cock, a string of spit for a moment hanging from his lips to the sensitive head of his cock. “I need in you,” Geralt said not at all caring about subtlety. 

Jaskier was on the bed a second later, legs splayed wide. “See if I had had that hour I wanted for getting pretty, I would have done some prep, but now you have to do all the work.”

“This is not a hardship,” Geralt said. He checked and was relieved to find oil in the table beside the bed. He slicked a finger and didn’t even really tease, just pressed the tip of his finger into Jaskier. 

“Geralt,” Jaskier shouted. “Fuck, Geralt, warning?”

“Did it hurt?” Geralt asked. All he could smell on Jaskier was arousal.

“No, just warning.”

“Very well, I’m going to finger you until you come from that alone. Then I am going to fuck you hard and make you come again.” Geralt pressed his finger in more. “How do you feel about -”

“Good, I feel very good about whatever you were going to say next,” Jaskier said.

“Excellent, I’ll go get the goat,” Geralt nodded and started to pull his finger out. He laughed far too loudly when Jaskier’s legs locked around him and pulled him close. It was incredibly awkward with where his finger was. “No goat?” he teased.

“No goat,” Jaskier agreed. “And while you had that one ugly whore a decade ago, I am pretty sure you’ve never fucked a goat.” Jaskier was laughing, “But yes fine, I get it.”

Geralt kissed him. “We have time to learn what each other likes.” 

“We do. Married couples tend to spend a lot of time around each other,” Jaskier’s legs loosened and Geralt went back to fingering him, stretching him open. “Think we’ll spend a lot of time like this?”

“Yes,” Geralt said and pressed a second finger in, and enjoyed the curses that streamed out of Jaskier far too much. “Though sometimes I suppose it will be you fingering me. I’m not really picky so long as I have you.”

“Wonderful,” Jaskier said and the word went up a couple octaves as Geralt pressed against his prostate. A few more strokes and Jaskier was coming all over himself and untouched. 

“Didn’t expect that,” Geralt said. 

“Yes well, I haven’t had anyone touch me there in months what with the whole respectful embrace,” Jaskier snarled. “You come right now, so we are on equal footing here.”

“I can’t just -” Geralt blinked as Jaskier tackled him and if he thought Jaskier was good at sucking cock before, this was a whole different thing because he was going hard and fast and Geralt could not think at all and the second he felt Jaskier’s throat close around him, as Jaskier swallowed, Geralt was done. “Fuck,” he managed to say.

“There, we both popped off stupid fast,” Jaskier said and collapsed on top of him. Geralt flinched, over sensitive when Jaskier’s tongue gave his foreskin a small lick. “Remind me in a couple hours to go kill Lambert for that whole respectable embrace shit from the ancient courting books.”

“Happily,” Geralt agreed. He looked over at the bath tub and saw a magic glyph on it. He kicked Jaskier to get him off, and went to touch the glyph. The tub filled with hot water. “Jaskier,” he said.

“Yes,” Jaskier hurried over and they settled into the water together, cuddled, and Jaskier talking of love and promises and ideas for their future. Some of it was completely implausible and most of it wasn’t practical, but he let the man dream. He occasionally offered an opinion as well, just an idea or two. Jaskier liked them, which was nice. 

“Husband,” Geralt said softly. 

“It is a good word,” Jaskier replied. “Shit word in songs though, so don’t get all huffed out and worried I don’t love you just because I never sing about our wedded bliss. That stuff doesn’t go over well, people want pining.”

Geralt kissed his head. “I’m fine with that.” He was more than fine with that if he was honest. They went back to the bed, and this time Geralt did press into Jaskier, and it was slow and soft, and dare he say it a rather respectful fucking. He couldn’t stop kissing Jaskier and saying husband, and Jaskier was saying all sorts of endearments, and anything that flitted through his brain. He loved every word.

Their bodies moved together, the rhythm occasionally off, as it was with new lovers, when you were nervous, when you wanted it to be perfect. They were sweaty, or still wet from the bath, a bit too much oil, the red pain on Jaskier’s lips mostly chewed off but what was left was smeared, and Geralt pressed a couple fingers into Jaskier’s mouth and fuck Jaskier’s body was just holding him so tight.

Geralt groaned as he spilled into Jaskier, and he carefully pulled out and slid down to suck Jaskier off. He wasn’t the best at this, and he choked when he went too deep because it turned out Jaskier was longer than he expected (this was not a complaint but an observation) and when Jaskier spilled, Geralt remembered he didn’t particularly love swallowing and ended spitting a bit too much back onto Jaskier. He could hear Jaskier laughing at him and he laughed a bit as well.

Geralt moved up the bed and pulled Jaskier close. “My apologies, that was not very respectful, spitting your spend back onto your cock.” 

Jaskier started giggling and Geralt knew he had a stupid grin on his own face. “Not perfect by any stretch.”

“It was my wedding night with Geralt of Rivia, the white wolf,” Jaskier kissed his jaw. “A man I have loved for a very long time, loves me in return. It was perfect.”

“Was it now?”

“Oh fuck no, but when have I ever cared about the facts? In our memories of this night it was all completely perfect. You cried so overwhelmed with emotion, and I cuddled you close and sang to you -”

Geralt put a pillow over Jaskier’s face. He was somehow still talking even through fake suffocation. Geralt decided to cover his own face. He peaked out from under it though when Jaskier climbed onto his lap. “Are you done being an idiot?”

“Over my love for you? Never,” Jaskier swore. “I’m going to be stupid for you, forever.”

Geralt thought of the romantic words Jaskier had said down in the garden in front of their family. The formal words he had repeated from the courting books that caused all the trouble, that brought him more than he had ever dreamed of. That was a better promise. “I’m going to be stupid for you, forever as well. But just a little less stupid, because I would recognize when someone is making overt romantic gestures.” He laughed when the pillow was pressed down against his own face.

He stopped laughing when Jaskier began to roll his hips while he was astride Geralt. 

By the morning, they were exhausted, but they were pretty sure they had reached perfection. But they’d try again the next night, and the one after that, and a thousand after that just to be sure.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your amazing comments, and all your love for this fic, I really have appreciated it.

Jaskier stared at them. He really wished they would look repentant. But they didn’t. They weren’t even looking at him. Ciri was trying to look at everything, and Geralt was busy trying to make sure she didn’t look at everything. He cleared his throat, and they were still not paying attention to him. When he cleared his throat for a second time, well at least the barkeep noticed him and brought him an ale.

The place was starting to get busy and Geralt was having a harder and harder time keeping Ciri from seeing things. “Jaskier, I need a blindfold.”

“I’ve see things before, Geralt,” she said.

“No, you haven’t you are a baby.”

“I’m seventeen, Father, and I’ve done things, not just seen them.”

The silence that met was very deadly. Jaskier turned to the barkeep. “Whisky with the ale?” 

“On the fucking house, because that right there is a powder keg, if I ever saw one.” He handed Jaskier a few fingers of whisky and Jaskier knocked it back. He took a deep breath and turned back to his family.

“Right, now then. Geralt, good lord, remember to breathe. Ciri you made your father stop breathing, and the things you have done are kiss and lightly grope a maiden at a solstice party you went to with Yen and Triss. Your clothes didn’t even come off.” Jaskier was relieved to see Geralt start breathing again, but now Ciri was looking murderous.

“How do you know that?”

“Because I’m your father, I know everything,” he said in as dark and mysterious a voice as he could. “Now, if you want to know more, we can hire you one of the professionals in here tonight. I used to be able to tell a good whore from a bad one in a glance, let your father buy you a nice whore, darling. It’s the least I can do.” Jaskier took a bit of savage satisfaction in how saying that made them both look ill. “Oh, was that an inappropriate thing to suggest? Tell me, darling family was it anymore inappropriate than say…pantsing Valdo Marx? And then when the lovely mercenaries he had hired as personal security take offense to launch ourselves on the stage and take them all out in three seconds getting us all kicked out of the bardic competition, and the inn that we were staying at? In a city so full for said bardic competition that the only other rooms we could find were in this brothel?” Jaskier was glaring at them. “That we had to pay coin for, and that I am also going to perform in?”

“You’ll enjoy singing here more than you will in theory of vocal control challenge,” Geralt muttered, and when he saw Ciri staring at a woman’s breasts covered her eyes. “Not until you are thirty.”

“Pretty lady,” Ciri whined. “Maybe she’ll fall in love with me and I can take her away from this life. We’ll get a cottage and -”

“Darling they never fall in love with you,” Jaskier rubbed her shoulder. “But good to know you take after your father, and have shit taste in love.”

“Hey, no insulting yourself like that,” Geralt growled.

“I was suggesting she takes after me, and my shit taste in love,” Jaskier gave him a pointed look.

“No, I am fantastic. You tell me every day.”

This was the problem with spending most of your life repairing the white wolf’s reputation, one day you have to deal with the fact that he believes you and insulting him gets a lot harder. Jaskier took Geralt’s hand away from Ciri’s eyes. “Geralt, she has seen a brothel before. She has walked in on many things from many different people. And she is seventeen. Let go, just a little.”

“We are not buying her a whore.”

“No, if she wants a whore she can spend her own coin on it.”

“I don’t have enough for that,” Ciri pouted. “My last job stiffed me. Said no proof of death, no coin. I showed them the ashes, but they didn’t believe me.”

“What?” Jaskier was pissed. “You worked your ass off and they didn’t pay you? What village? Geralt, we need to go have a conversation with these people.”

“No, she learned a good lesson about how people are sons of bitches,” Geralt said. “Sucks, but it is a fact of the path. This is why you get a bard though.”

“I don’t want a bard, I want a pirate.”

“You can have whatever you want, darling,” Jaskier said, “But now we get back on track. Ciri, why did you pants Valdo Marx?”

“Because he has a little rat face, and suggested that your voice has been ruined by sucking Geralt’s cock.” Ciri crossed her arms and sank down in her chair. “And I remembered it made you happy when you thought Father had pants him, humiliated him. So you know…pantsing.”

“I choose to believe sucking Geralt’s cock has rather lubricated my throat not damaged it,” Jaskier said without really thinking about it. “Ow,” he groaned when Geralt hit him, and Ciri looked close to vomiting. “Sorry, darling. Your father and I never do anything like that. Only respectable embraces, of course.”

Geralt snickered and stole Jaskier’s ale. 

Ciri shuddered a bit. “Do you know how many respectable embraces I have walked in on? Why do witchers and sorceresses not lock doors?”

“Point, my dear, why do you never knock?” Geralt asked. 

“Focusing,” Jaskier reminded both of them, and himself. “Why Geralt did you then decide to destroy all of his guards?”

“Preemptive strike, they clearly were going for Ciri, or planning to. And I made sure they could. It is my destiny, to protect my child of -”

“Oh shut the fuck up,” Jaskier groaned and stole his ale back, which was empty. The barkeep luckily brought him a new mug. “Sir, you are a hero and a god among men, and say the word I will leave these buffoons and be your dedicated servant.” Jaskier ignored the little growl that Geralt gave, the idiot knew he wasn’t serious. 

“Thanks, but I have a feeling you are more trouble than those two combined. Man walks with no weapons, with two people who have a dozen? That spells a lot of trouble to me, no matter how pretty your mouth is.”

“My mouth is really pretty isn’t it?” Jaskier smiled at him. “Wait until you see it singing shortly.”

“Looking forward to that. Do you know, bardic competition comes to town, you are the only one coming in here to entertain?”

“A tragedy to be sure, no better audience than what you find in a brothel.”

“Truer words, truer words.”

“I’ll have a whisky,” Ciri said.

“She’ll have a milk punch. I’ll have a bottle of red. Also what woman here would be willing to sell her red lip paint?”

The barkeep was looking at Geralt in confusion. “Uh, Vivka perhaps?”

“My thanks, who is she?” Geralt was clearly scanning the room.

“One with the tattoo there,” he said. “No offense, but you’d look better in a light pink lip.”

“He is buying it for me, our anniversary is soon, he always buys me a few gifts leading up to it, in memory of our courting.” Jaskier sighed happily. “It was brilliant you know, and I was aware the whole time that the white wolf was courting me. There was no confusion or weirdness involved.”

“Very good sir,” the barkeep clearly decided he had maxed out his insanity levels and left them, only returning with milk punch for Ciri and wine for Geralt.

Jaskier gave Ciri his ale and took the milk punch.

“I love you,” she said and leaned against him. Her eyes were now tracking a man who was wearing very very little and fine yes, Jaskier covered her eyes until he disappeared, ignoring the way she laughed at him. “You know this was one of your gifts right?”

“What was?”

“Us getting you kicked out of the bardic competition,” she whispered even though they couldn’t even see Geralt. “We planned it.”

“What?” Jaskier would not lose his temper. 

“Father watched you the first couple of days, and said it was clear you weren’t having fun. That the competition was as much about the politics as the music, and it was sapping the joy out of you. But you wouldn’t withdraw because of pride and all that. That you like sticking it to people, even though out in the real world, everyone knows you are the best bard on the continent. So we schemed and got you kicked out. Landed here, because you are happier playing places like this than for nobility. Great gift right?”

“I do not know if that is the sweetest or stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life.”

“We flipped a coin to see who would pants Valdo,” she said and kissed his cheek. 

“No, that is the sweetest and stupidest thing I have ever heard in my life,” Jaskier decided.

“What is?” Geralt was standing at their table, chest all puffed out. “I have new red paint for you.”

“Put it on for me, before I sing?”

He held his lips a bit open and Geralt’s finger carefully applied the paint to his lips. Jaskier leaned into the touch and enjoyed the fire that was slowly building in Geralt’s eyes.

“Ugh,” Ciri groaned and covered her own eyes. “Stop that! Innocent child right here.”

“Thought you had done things.”

“Honestly, I think going down on a pretty woman would be less intimate than what you two are doing right now. So gross.”

“That my dear, is what love does. Makes everything more intimate. Take it from me, a man with a varied reputation before I knew we were in love and absolutely was fully aware I was marrying my Geralt.” Jaskier enjoyed the eye roll that Geralt gave him as he finished putting the red paint on him. “Now then, shall I earn us some coin? I have a new song that I think will go over well in here. Ciri, I will be singing metaphorically about dicks. You want to go up to the room?”

“No, I want to see people giving you the respect you deserve. Not that stupid polite applause at the competition,” she said. “I’ll just get drunk, then it won’t bother me.”

“You will not,” Geralt huffed.

Ciri finished the ale, and then her hand snaked out, fast and had half of Geralt’s wine down her throat before he wrested the bottle back from her. “Wanna bet?” They started bickering and Jaskier grabbed his lute and climbed onto the bar.

“My fine ladies and gentlemen, I am given to understand some entertainment is in order!” Jaskier called out. He looked at the crowd in the brothel, compared them to the grand hall he had been singing in that morning. The room smelled of incense, ale, and sex. His husband and daughter were slapping at each other over a bottle of wine, and Geralt carefully put the jar of red paint in his pocket to keep it safe for Jaskier.

This was indeed much better.

And he knew Geralt would be so proud of the red paint, more than the escape from the competition that he had engineered. Jaskier began to strum his lute. “Let me tell you fine folks about a very important satchel.” He grinned at Geralt who stopped fighting with Ciri, all attention on Jaskier. He winked at the crowd. “Let’s have some fun.”

He sang for hours, and Ciri passed out from wine, and Geralt punched a man who tried to buy Jaskier, and he was fucked on a bed that smelled just appalling and it was all completely perfect.

In the morning the three set out on the Path, as they always did together.

“So glad I asked you to marry me, Geralt,” Jaskier said as he walked and the other two rode their horses. “Really was the best decision I ever made.”

“That is not what fucking happened,” Geralt growled.

“Eh, close enough,” Jaskier said. He grinned at Geralt. “Here bought you a gift at the brothel.”

“I am riding ahead,” Ciri said and hurried away. 

Jaskier tossed it up to Geralt. “This is a fine oilskin,” Geralt was nodding, clearly impressed. “My thanks, Jaskier.”

Melitele save him. “The gift is inside you lummox. A courting book.”

Geralt looked at him. “I already courted you. I did great.”

“Different sort of courting book,” Jaskier winked at him and walked humming to himself, waiting for Geralt to look at the oh so helpful pictures in the book.

“Can you even bend that way?” Geralt called out. “Oh wait, I think I have it upside down. No, that doesn’t make it better. Maybe sideways?” 

Jaskier snickered. “We’ll figure that out tonight! Happy anniversary.”

“You idiot, our anniversary isn’t for two more weeks.”

Jaskier paused. “Wait, really?”

“Yes,” Geralt glared at him. “How do you not remember our fucking anniversary?”

“Gee, I don’t know, maybe it has something to do with the fact that I didn’t know I was getting married!”

They walked for hours enjoying the bicker over their courtship as they had many times over the years. They ignored Ciri’s promises to kill them if they didn’t shut up. She’d understand how romantic it all was one day. Geralt and Jaskier sneaked away from camp to have some fun and heard the scream of nekkers.

Jaskier sighed as Ciri came running and started hacking them to bits, and Geralt joined her. At least Ciri hadn’t noticed that Jaskier’s pants were almost off. He watched them battle the monsters and smiled a bit. Because this was his life, and it really was just about perfect.

Only there was no lake or river near by, which meant he was camping with a bloody witcher and a bloody almost witcher. And no sex because of all that blood and guts. 

But they were smiling and happy, chuffed from fighting together. His family was happy, so it was close enough to perfect for him. And anyways he gave it three days before Ciri got sick of them and went to find a job of her own. Then he and Geralt could properly go at it. On their anniversary. Which he absolutely knew the date of.

And Geralt would remind him anyways. His witcher was romantic like that.


	15. Now with art

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my incredible thanks to the artist limrx for creating these incredible pieces of art

Our beloved idiots.


	16. Bonus Chapter: Alternate Ending

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So when I wrote this fic I had two different endings in mind. I went with the few years later actual pantsing of Valdo Marx.
> 
> I also had a ten years later one in mind that shows the apple really doesn't fall far from the moron tree.
> 
> I had been thinking about this alternate ending the last couple weeks and decided to share it as a coda or bonus chapter because I realized it actually fits quite well as a follow to the ending.

“Geralt, I love you, calm the fuck down,” Jaskier snapped. He did dearly love his husband, but the man was getting annoying. “Yen?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Since he is useless right now, your opinion would be valued.” Jaskier gestured to the tables where he had laid cloth and scattered flowers. Ribbons and banners were hanging, everyone was helping except Geralt who was just pacing. 

“It is tacky. Like you.”

“That was barely an insult. Let me guess, you are worried too,” Jaskier gave her a hug, and it was clear just how worried she was when she didn’t hit him. “She’ll be here. Go pace with Geralt. Try to kill each other, that will distract you.”

“A decent idea. The wreaths Lambert made are crooked.” Yen shot some magic at Geralt and soon they were fighting, well distracted.

Jaskier looked and the wreaths weren’t crooked. Somehow Lambert had made wreaths that looked like dicks. He was a little pissed off that the tenth anniversary party had been ruined by the travesty but also really impressed with how well they had been shaped. He stared for a while. Tried to think if there was a way to hang them that would make them look like not dicks. There was not and he decided to just roll with it. 

Everything really was perfect. And ready.

Which meant he could now worry about Ciri not being here yet. And it had been a year and a half since they had seen her. There had been messages, letters but you have to let a woman in her twenties grow, find her own path. They had missed her dreadfully. Geralt still regularly would cast his eyes to where her bedroll should be and would hunch into himself. Jaskier would look for her in every tavern or whorehouse they would stop in. Sometimes, maybe they would try to track her a bit, just to happen to run into her, by pure chance of course.

But fate always made them just miss her, because she had to grow, be free.

She promised though, tenth anniversary, she was going to be here. She had to be here or several witchers and sorceresses were hunting her down, and she’d never gain a moment’s peace or solitude ever again. Their girl would be here. 

“Dammit, Yen!” Geralt roared, and Jaskier turned to look.

Yen actually looked apologetic which oh fuck, that meant it was bad. He expected to see Geralt with a gaping hole in his chest or missing a limb. But it was so much worse.

“Oh dear,” Triss said politely.

“Well, pup, you play with fire,” Vesemir offered.

“Ha!” Lambert was pointing and laughing, and Eskel eventually covered his mouth to stop the noise.

Jaskier approached slowly until he was in front of Geralt, honestly shielding Yen with his body, even as she kept apologizing over and over. Which again was terrifying, but Geralt looked seriously ready to murder her. “It is fine, hair grows.” He had clearly spun to dodge a bit of fire Yen shot, and it had singed away his hair. The burn on his neck was already healing but you couldn’t exactly heal hair. “Let’s go inside and I’ll clean it up. You’ll look very handsome, I promise.”

Jaskier nudged and Geralt at first wouldn’t move, just glared around him at Yen, but Jaskier got him going. He kept up a cheerful dialogue up to their room, and nudged Geralt to a chair. He just prattled on about everything and anything until he finished fixing the hair. “Oh,” he said softly.

“I look like an idiot, don’t I?” Geralt growled and he ran his fingers through the hair. The strands flopped in his face a little and his hand sort of just stopped when there was no more hair to go through.

“No, you look really handsome,” Jaskier promised. He tidied yup around Geralt, and then sat in his lap. “She’ll be here,” he promised and kissed him. He ran his fingers through the shorter hair and yes it felt very odd after decades of touching it, but it did truly look good. He tugged a bit, and enjoyed the noises that Geralt made under him. Well, sex would keep them both very distracted.

Jaskier was shirtless and getting Geralt to that state when there was an odd vfoomf sound outside, and Jaskier was dumped off of Geralt’s lap onto the ground. “Ciri,” Geralt shouted and bolted for the door.

“Your dick is almost out,” Jaskier shouted after him, and he was pretty sure Geralt heard him. Fuck but maybe he hadn’t. Jaskier grabbed his shirt and ran after him, putting it on but not doing it up. He made it outside and Geralt was spinning around Ciri in his arms, and they were both laughing, and smiling and everyone was surrounding them, thrilled to have their girl back. He was about to move forward but he noticed a redheaded woman in Skellige fashion hovering. She had a hand on a dagger though it was letting go. Jaskier could imagine what she had seen a witcher tearing out of the building and leaping on Ciri. He went over to her, a calm smile on his face, hands readily seen so she’d know he was no threat. They had had a few incidents on Skellige.

“We haven’t seen our girl in 18 months, they were a bit excited,” Jaskier explained. “Welcome to the anniversary party. I am Jaskier, the master bard. You are?”

“Cerys,” she said. Her eyes never left Ciri. “She warned her family were a little enthusiastic.” They watched Lambert cast aard and shoot Ciri in the air so that she landed in Eskel’s arms for a hug. “She did not adequately explain.”

“You never can with them.” 

“Them?” Geralt had approached. “You are just as bad. You have the look of a Craite.”

“My father is Crach an Craite. He has spoken well of you, Geralt of Rivia, and it is an honour to meet you.”

“He is a good man,” Geralt smiled as much as he did around strangers. “Are you a good woman?”

Jaskier pinched his nose. “Geralt, please?”

“It is a fair question! Everyone I love is here and if she is shit, maybe I’ll have to kill her. Best just find out now before it ruins the party. Tissaia will be here soon.” Geralt was clearly sizing her up. “Why are you here?”

“I’ve been traveling with Ciri for a few months, as she was on her path on Skellige. Having me along made some of the locals more amenable to her aid. I soothed some ruffled feathers.”

“And you came because?” Geralt was unrelenting and Jaskier swatted at him.

“Because she never stops talking about her family, does she? Missed you all so much, I was curious. My brother is an arse, most of the people I grew up around I was much happier being friends with Ciri than being around them. I was curious how as fierce a warrior as she could miss home so much.” Cerys just shrugged a bit. “When she invited me, to this party whatever it is, I decided I wanted to meet you.”

“It is our tenth anniversary,” Jaskier explained, “Of when I totally knew I was handfasted, and having a formal ceremony.”

“Wait, the story she told was true? No one would be such a simpleton to miss that they were married. I owe her twenty crowns.”

“Ha!” Geralt was beaming and went over and hugged Cerys. “Thank you. He was stupid.”

Jaskier took a deep breath, tried for patience. “You never once said you were courting me!” He heard running and braced himself when Ciri hopped onto his back. “Hello, my love.”

“Jaskier I missed you! I have a great gift for you!”

“What is that?”

“Songs, old songs I found in a crypt where I dealt with some wraiths. On sheepskin, I looted them.”

“You looted the sacred cairn of -” Cerys looked horrified.

They all just snorted. “They will steal everything not nailed down, and even then they might pry it up. Habit,” Jaskier explained, “from the fact they regularly get stiffed on jobs. And you can find neat things in crypts. Thank you dear. So you made a friend on the path, that’s nice.”

“Yes,” Ciri slid off his back and went to stand near to Cerys. “Friends are friendly and great.”

Jaskier squinted a bit at her. Geralt and Cerys had moved a pace over and were arguing about Skellige versus Northern steel for daggers. “Friends?”

“I couldn’t get passage on a larger boat one day, and she was furious that the locals were treating a witcher poorly. She stole a small fishing boat and took me to the island I needed to be at. We found some hidden treasure too, it was great.”

That made him squint even more, and Ciri was growing fidgety under his gaze. “Almost like a pirate wouldn’t you say?”

Ciri crossed her arms and raised her chin. “I don’t know. It was just nice to have a friend in unfriendly lands.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier said, copying the Geralt noise perfectly. “Excuse me.”

“No.”

“What?”

“No, you think you know something and you absolutely don’t. There is nothing to know about my friend. That I brought back to the most important family event of the year to meet my fathers and mothers and uncles. Just my friend with really nice hair and daggers.”

“Mmmhmm,” Jaskier took the few paces over to where now everyone was sort of surrounding Cerys. He moved into the circle and gently put his hands on her shoulders. “Excuse me, Cerys, a quick question for you.”

“Sure?” she seemed a little nervous about his intensity.

“During the course of your travels together, did Ciri give you a satchel at all?” He smiled and it probably looked slightly insane. Everyone else went deathly quiet.

“No?” Cerys was frowning. “Never why?” She paused. “Well, I did mention that a piece of treasure we found had incredible history to my family line and I didn’t want to sell it. Couple days later she came me this enchanted pouch to keep it safe.” Cerys held up the small bag. “But not a satchel.”

“That is a nice pouch,” Geralt nodded. His gaze flitted to Ciri whose cheeks were flushed. “That is a really great pouch, little one. Can feel the quality enchantments on it.”

“Thanks, Dad, spent most of my treasure money on it,” she looked so proud of herself. “It has a dozen protections for the item and Cerys woven into it.”

“Well done, really well done,” Geralt went and hugged her.

Jaskier hung his head. “Cerys, another question if I may?”

“Sure?”

“Two actually. Did she meet any of your family, and did she give you a gift that was sort of perfect and filled a need you never even knew you had?”

“Aye, she met my idiot brother and kicked his ass, it was gorgeous, and he was so stunned, made me happier than I have ever been. But, nae no -” Cerys quieted. “Well there was -”

“Was what?” Everyone shouted and when Ciri looked ready to bolt, Geralt wrapped her in his arms, to stop the fleeing.

“It is personal, but just know that she said words in public that I never thought anyone would say to me. Defend me. Trust me like that.”

“Wait, no that wasn’t the courting gift,” Ciri interjected, “I got you that armor that was better for your fighting style.”

“Courting gift?” the pale girl whitened even further. “Courting gift.”

“Was it a great armor?” Geralt asked.

Ciri beamed, “It was, the finest thinnest metal, to grant her better mobility. She is so fast with her axes, Geralt. And she was wearing this clunky -”

“Courting!” Cerys shouted.

“Yes, see she is her father’s daughter. Which meant she fell stupid in love with you, probably the moment she saw you, knowing our girl’s taste.”

“Not the moment, when she stole a boat for me.”

“Yes, she’s always wanted a pirate,” Jaskier hugged Cerys. “They are morons, and you coming here? That was the last stage of courting, to meet the family.”

“I didn’t know,” Cerys sounded faint. 

“Not so weird I didn’t know I was married now is it?” Jaskier felt almost smug. He looked over and Ciri was close to panicking. “Do you like the idea of being courted by Ciri?”

“Aye,” Cerys agreed. “Loved her since I saw her kill this wyvern, covered in blood and guts and looking like a goddess I would worship every single day.”

“You love me?” Ciri’s voice was a squeak. “Would you bind yourself to me?”

“Like in that battle blood story you went on about?” 

“Wow, she knew, she knew how to do it better than us, and still fucked it up. Geralt, we raised a moron.” Jaskier was honestly in awe that Ciri had followed all their mistakes to a tee.

Geralt sniffled, “It’s all so romantic. She is perfect. A pouch and armor? Just so well done.”

“I am going to kill you,” Jaskier declared calmly. Geralt’s arms were around him the next moment and he melted against his witcher. “Fine, you’ll live.”

Ciri was babbling away, trying to explain it all until Cerys just cut her off with a kiss and everyone cheered. 

A portal opened and Tissaia walked through. “Well,” was all she said with a raised brow.

Jaskier smiled at her. “Think it is a vow renewal and a wedding now, good woman.”

“Interesting.” 

“Isn’t it? Ciri was as much of an idiot as her father.”

Tissaia smirked, “I always did say she would take after you.” Jaskier just stuck his tongue out at her. He felt Geralt’s arms wrap around him. 

“My love?” Jaskier tilted his head a bit to see Geralt. He quite liked the short hair.

“She is happy. And well. And perfect.”

“Yes, she is.”

Geralt kissed his neck and Jaskier sighed happily. “She got Cerys a pouch.”

Jaskier groaned. Now he’d never stop hearing about the satchel, which yes was still in perfect condition and maybe great not that he’d ever saw that, and the pouch. “Marry me, Geralt. Again.” Ever since the first year they had renewed their promise to each other on their anniversary, and every Jaskier asked Geralt to make up for that one teeny tiny time he hadn’t noticed that he had been married.

“Always, forever,” Geralt swore. “Should I get you a pouch for those rings you like?”

“Just shut up,” Jaskier elbowed him, and they stood and watched their daughter properly propose to Cerys. 

She was so happy. 

And so were they.


End file.
